I'll Be Out There Somewhere
by pearlydewdrop
Summary: Sybil Crawley is an eighteen year old aristocrat and suffragist, newly out in society. Tom Branson is an up and coming Irish politician who is making his way in a country that isn't his own. All the while, Mary and Matthew are dancing around their feelings like only they know how. Mainly Sybil/Tom but with a fair shake of Mary/Matthew thrown in too. Victorian Era AU. London Season
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **

**Cúpla Fócail as Gaeilge (a few words in Irish) for everyone who's not from Ireland. **

**Ceapann sé go raibh se fósta suas ach is pheata é a mháthair fós (he thinks he's all grown up but he's still his mother's pet)**

**Codladh àilleacht (beauty sleep) **

**And some Irish slang...**

**Annoy the bejaysus out of someone (annoy the hell out of someone) **

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_..._

_The Parliament at Westminster_

_London_

_1885_

_..._

Despite the fact that was very nearly summer, dark grey clouds were brewing overhead, threatening a downpour that would have rivalled the temperamental weather that was so common this time of year back in Ireland.

Two figures appeared at the top of the street, apparently deep in friendly banter as they held down the rims of their hats in the unnaturally stormy summer's breeze.

After a passing glance at the two formally dressed young men, one would have marked them no different from any other gentleman making his way home from work in the evening.

But upon a closer inspection of their accents and a sharper eye upon their second hand suits, it was clear that they were quite a bit different from the regular young English gentlemen seen around Westminster.

A pair of Irishmen, and bloody proud of it too.

The young politicians swiftly made their way down the street, away from the parliament buildings where they had spent their day in eager support of their party leader, Charles Stewart Parnell.

"Ahh Jaaysus Tom, What in God's name would you get out of going to a woman's rally?", Seamus Casey asked with a half amused and half exasperated eye roll in the direction of his friend, colleague and fellow member of the Irish Parliamentary Party.

He shook his head in disbelief, "...and on your day off too!"

Shrugging nonchalantly, a determined smile crept up on Tom Branson's face.

Neither of them could deny that women had a rightful place in politics, just as they did.

After all, both of them had relatives who were involved in The Ladies Land League during the last few years, and the women's endeavours had proved to be extremely effective in spreading support for both The IPP as a party and Home Rule as a step towards greater independence for the Irish people.

"Look Seamus, The Women's Movement may seem all very prim and upper middle class at the moment but that'll change once their ideas get more popular. There's no reason why women shouldn't be entitled to the same rights that Daniel O' Connell managed to get for the likes of me and you...a bunch of Catholic rebel rousers, the pair of us".

Tom's final comment was accompanied by a good natured smirk that only elicited an eye roll from his companion.

"Rebel rousers my arse, Branson", Seamus responded gruffly, just about containing a proud grin of his own as he feigned serious offence at the suggestion.

A pair of rebel rousers, a moniker fit for any man (or woman) willing to fight for the betterment of their homeland. (Not to mention how their reputation was probably one of the defining reasons that they had been elected to represent the North Dublin Constituency.)

Ten, even five years ago, it would have been completely unthinkable for a pair of middle class Irish fellas like them to get involved in politics, let alone get elected into parliament.

Parnell was the one who had made that all possible.

Each and every members of The IPP were now to be given a wage and lodgings for their time spent in London, something that suddenly made it possible for men of humbler backgrounds(as apposed to just the sons and nephews of wealthy landlords) to accept their seats in parliament.

Thankfully, the change had brought a lot of new blood, new representation and new ideas into the party, something that could only help Ireland's future prospects for greater independence.

"What would your poor Ma say? We're respectable pillars of the community now, you and me."

Tom chuckled, ducking out of step with his friend and into the side street that led to his flat. "Respectable, eh?", he retorted jokingly. "A mad bastard like yourself?"

"You're surely one to be talking, Branson".

Seamus continued on a few paces before noticing that Tom was no longer walking beside him.

"Are you not coming into Molly's for one?", he asked gesturing vaguely to the pub down near the end of the street, a pub that had been an all time favourite and regular haunt of the Irish emigrants living in the area ever since it's opening. "Murphy says he owes us a round"

There were few places in London that served a decent pint and held a regular celli, Molly Malone's was one of those rare and fine establishments.

It was almost like a little piece of home.

Tom shook his head, thinking of his parents and siblings back home in Ireland, his family who he hasn't written to or heard from in quite a few weeks. "Naah, Seamus not tonight. Tomorrow's an early start and I still have to write home. Ma'll have my head if I don't let her know what's been going on this side of the pond."

Seamus smirked at his friend's retreating figure. "Ceapann sé go raibh se fósta suas ach is pheata é a mháthair fós", he called after him, more than capable of imagining the wrath of the formidable Branson matriarch, but not as something that usually came down upon her youngest son.

Tom Branson was most certainly as much of a mammy's boy as there ever could be.

Smiling, Tom made to head towards his apartment once again. "Will you go away with that", he replied, casting his eyes to heaven as he turned away.

He was well aware that Seamus was simply trying to get a rise out of him, getting a good natured dig in whatever way he could-as was the Irish way, the better you can annoy the bejaysus out of someone, the better the friends you usually are.

"Enjoy the women's rally tomorrow. Make sure to get your codladh àilleacht beforehand", Seamus added, reasoning that if the first comment didn't get a reaction out of Tom, than the second would most certainly do the trick. "Who knows where you could run into the future Mrs Branson."

"Ahh would ya feck off", Tom replied, his Irish brogue thickening as he immediately made to shoot down any and all of Seamus's assumptions.

The idea of attending a women's rally simply to chat up members of the opposite sex was downright ridiculous! Tom did, after all, truly give a damn about women's rights-or the rights of anyone who deserved better, whether they be Irish, working class or women.

...That being said however, Tom could hardly deny that he wouldn't mind being in the company of a determined and politically minded lass should circumstances allow for it...

* * *

**And some history for anyone interested...**

**Charles Stewart Parnell** (27 June 1846 – 6 October 1891) was an Irish nationalist politician who served from 1875 as Member of Parliament (MP) in the House of Commons of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and whose party held the balance of power in the House of Commons during the Home Rule debates of 1885–1890.

**The IPP (The Irish Parliamentary Party-a party, led most famously by Charles Stewart Parnell. **The party was formed in 1874 by Isaac Butt, the leader of the Nationalist Party, replacing the Home Rule League, as official parliamentary party for Irish nationalist Members of Parliament (MPs) elected to the House of Commons at Westminster within the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland up until 1918.** Its central objectives were legislative independence for Ireland and land reform. Its constitutional movement was instrumental in laying the groundwork for Irish self-government through three ****Irish Home Rule bills.**

**The Irish National Land League** was founded by Michael Davitt in 1879. Its aims were a) "to bring about a reduction of rack rents" and b) "to facilitate the obtaining of the ownership of the soil by the occupiers".

By late 1880 Davitt felt sure that the leadership of the League would soon be imprisoned. He suggested that a Ladies' Land League be set up to carry on the work after their imprisonment. A few months previously a **Ladies' Land League** Committee had been set up by Fanny and Anna Parnell, Charles' sisters, to raise funds for the Irish National Land League.

**Daniel O'Connell** (Irish: _Dónall Ó Conaill_; 6 August 1775 – 15 May 1847), often referred to as **The Liberator** or **The Emancipator,** was an Irish political leader in the first half of the 19th century. He campaigned for Catholic emancipation—including the right for Catholics to sit in the Westminster Parliament, a right that had been denied for over 100 years. He also campaigned for the repeal of the Acts of Union (1801) which combined Great Britain and Ireland. He was a great supporter of Irish Nationalism and believed strongly in Irish independence.

**Authors Notes; **

**Hiya everyone who decided to give this fic a go! Hope you're all good! Please let me know what you're thoughts are on this story so far and if an AU like this would be something you would be interested in. Its going to be mainly Sybil/Tom with some Mary/Matthew too thrown in for good measure. Anyways, I'd be thrilled if you took the time to leave a review and let me know what you thought, constructive criticism is always welcome.**

**Talk soon,**

**Pearlydewdrop xx**

**PS: Just in case anyone is wondering, the story title comes from the Dermot Kennedy song 'Outnumbered'. You should definitely give it a listen if you haven't already!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

...

_Grantham House_

_London_

_The Summer of 1885_

_..._

Pale golden candlelight soothed the dressing table, casting a shadow of the elaborate rounded perfume bottles on the surface of the mahogany dresser and a glow across the faces of the three young women in the room.

It had been almost a year since they had last stayed at their father, the third Earl of Grantham's, second residence in London. And if the preparations they had seen around town upon their arrival were telling of anything, it was apparent that the upcoming season would be one to remember.

"For goodness sake", Mary remarked harshly, chatting away with a mildly interested Edith and a politely indifferent Sybil about some family friend who had turned more than a few heads recently on the London social scene. "We all knew she was a social climber but no one said that she was practically a mountaineer."

Sybil had lost track of who the lady in question was at this point and had drifted much too far from the conversation to even try. For now, she was too lost in her own thoughts about her father and grandmother's most recent disapproving remarks about her, perhaps somewhat unconventional, interests.

The most recent reforms of Gladstone's Liberal party and the newly established women's suffrage movement to name but a few of those that were most frowned upon by her largely conservative family.

_"My dear girl", The Dowager Countess had remarked, firmly but not totally unkindly. Her eyebrows were raised in a complete lack of amusement. "Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying all of the wrong remedies. I strongly advise a bright young woman like yourself to stay clear of it._"

"You didn't agree with Granny's opinions at dinner, did you?", Sybil asked suddenly, eliciting a shared smirk of amusement from her two sisters.

They had both known all too well that she had been off in a world of her own.

Mary smiled kindly at the reflection her youngest and, quite unapologetically, favourite sister as she fiddled with the ribbon that Anna had carefully tied before leaving them for the night.

She ignored Edith who rolled her eyes at her sudden change of demeanour. After all, Mary had the seamless switch from bitter judgment to sisterly concern down to an art form.

"Of course not, darling. But I do think you should keep the politics to a minimum tomorrow night. Liberal policies make for such awful ballroom conversation."

Sybil frowned. If she was being completely honest, she truly had been looking forward to her first London season and official debut in society. For the last few weeks, their Mama had been tirelessly preparing her for it all; the balls, the gowns, the suitors.

It was hard not to find the prospect even just a little bit exciting.

The longstanding tradition was important to her family, whom she loved dearly and would never wish to disappoint. That being said however, she wouldn't give up her beliefs for them, or for any faceless gentleman in London who wished to court her.

She thought of all of the political pamphlets upstairs, tucked carefully between the pages of Charlotte Carmichael Stopes's British Freewomen.

She thought of the notice for the suffragist rally that she hoped to attend while in London. It had been secretly stowed away in the dust jacket of Ms Wollstoncraft's Vindication of Rights for Women.

All she had to do now was figure out how she would get to Hyde Park the following day, if not only to be there in the thick of things for the first time in her life.

"Surely you don't believe any of that ridiculous nonsense about how a woman interested in the world around her is destined to turn into some sort of clinical spinster overnight", Sybil replied determinedly, voicing one of the more bizarre warnings she had heard from one end of their former governesses about women who wanted to know more about subjects that were often deemed appropriate for men alone.

"Is that so?", Mary said, her lips twitching upwards in repression of a smile.

She glanced purposefully over her shoulder at the second Crawley sister, who at up until that point had been simply observing the exchange with an easy sort of amusement.

"Edith, darling. You haven't been accidentally catching glimpses of Papa's morning newspaper, have you? It would certainly explain a lot".

"Mary!", Sybil reprimanded, all too familiar with the task of playing referee between her sisters whom almost always seemed to be at one another's throats.

She really was sick and tired of listening to her two sisters argue so frequently, and found herself briefly considering that Louisa May Alcott truly must have had no idea what it was like to grow up in a family of sisters when she wrote 'Little Women'.

Glaring at her eldest sister, Edith stood up from her original place, perched at the end of Mary's four poster bed. She bit down on her lip, her blonde hair a little mussed from the sudden movement.

"Well I think that's my cue to bid you goodnight", she said hotly, throwing an equally hurt and furious glance to the dark haired sister in question before turning with an outstretched hand to Sybil.

"Goodnight Sybil darling".

Sybil smiled apologetically, squeezing Edith's hand in response.

Silently, she promised that she would try to talk to Mary. She would at least ask her to be a little kinder to their sister. Clashes of personality aside, they were, first and foremost, family.

"Goodnight Edith. Sleep well".

As soon as the door shut once again, Sybil turned to Mary with a frown on her face and steel in her voice. "Mary, must you always be so cruel?"

Mary huffed noncommittally, apparently disinterested with any conversation regarding Edith.

She turned back to her reflection in the mirror of the dressing table without any further ado. "Believe me, Edith can get her claws out too when she wants."

"But she wouldn't have to if you didn't tear her down so much all the time", Sybil said, a hint of a plea in her voice.

"Darling, I have much more pressing things to be worrying about than Edith's feelings", Mary replied dismissively, a silent sigh of frustration passing from her lips that could only ever be linked back to one person entering her thoughts.

A certain gentleman with light blonde hair and a disposition so agreeable that it was almost infuriating.

Cheeks a little flushed, Mary dabbed some perfume on to both of her wrists, clearly hoping that her younger sister would not start the conversation that she could inevitably feel coming on.

Sybil smiled teasingly, at the ridiculous stubbornness of her eldest sibling.

How Mary was still able to ignore her feelings, Sybil could never quite fathom. She was sure that in Mary's place, feeling as intensely as she knew her sister was, she would have exploded long ago.

"You haven't given cousin Matthew any more thought?"

Mary frowned looking up in the mirror to make eye contact with her younger sister's reflection. "What with Mama and Papa trying to fling him upon me at every possible opportunity, how could I not?"

Sybil giggled at the accuracy of the suggestion. She was sure that it had been no accident that Mary and Matthew had been seated side by side for nearly every family dinner for the past few months. "Is that really such a bad thing when it's so obvious that the two of you are in love?"

"It is when Mama is pregnant with a child that could very well take Matthew's place as heir."

Sybil's smile faltered a little bit. The whole family had been very shocked and then elated at the surprise announcement of another Crawley sibling.

Despite that delight of everyone however, it was still very much apparent that such circumstances had left things up in the air for Mary and Matthew's future. "Surely none of that should matter if you truly love him."

Mary smiled sadly, turning around in her seat to properly face Sybil.

Usually she found that her youngest sister was the best person in the house to discuss her troubles with, but it was times like these that she was struck by how very young and still untouched by the realities of the world her sister seemed to be.

Marry purely for love? It was a notion that very few women of their class could even entertain without being cast off by their families.

"Sybil, dear." Mary said gently, squeezing her sister's hand in a way that suggested her wish for their conversation to be well and truly over for the night. "Promise me that you will never change."

* * *

**Author's Notes: On your way out,please leave me a review. Let me know what you liked, didn't like, would like to see in later chapters etc. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you all have a really lovely day wherever you are at, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **

* * *

A** little bit of history: **

The **National Society for Women's Suffrage** was the first national group in the United Kingdom to campaign for women's right to vote. Formed on 6 November 1867, by Lydia Becker, the organisation helped lay the foundations of the women's suffrage movement.

**Charlotte Brown Carmichael Stopes** (née **Carmichael**; 5 February 1840 – 6 February 1929), also known as **C. C. Stopes**, was a British scholar, author, and campaigner for women's rights. She also published several books relating to the life and work of William Shakespeare. Her most successful publication was _British Freewomen: Their Historical Privilege_, a book which influenced and inspired the early twentieth century British women's suffrage movement. She married Henry Stopes, a palaeontologist, brewer and engineer. They produced two daughters, the eldest of whom was Marie Stopes, birth control advocate.

**Mary Wollstonecraft** (27 April 1759 – 10 September 1797) was an English writer, philosopher, and advocate of women's rights. Until the late 20th century, Wollstonecraft's life, which encompassed several unconventional personal relationships, received more attention than her writing. Today, Wollstonecraft is regarded as one of the founding feminist philosophers, and feminists often cite both her life and work as important influences.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

_..._

_Grantham House_

_London _

_The Summer of 1886_

_..._

The library at Grantham Place was both smaller and cosier than the one at Downton with its plush rouge armchairs, heavy mahogany bookshelves that lined the walls and hanging ancestral tapestries.

The early rays of summer sunshine burst in through the large window at the far end of the room, giving the room a warming glow.

A portrait hung on the wall over the desk of the second Earl of Grantham Alfred Crawley's old chocolate Labradors, Geb and Nut. Forever frozen in time, the two dogs were panting happily on the lushious emerald coloured lawn in front of Downton Abbey, their pink tongues lolling from their mouths and their dark brown fur shining in the sunlight.

Sybil Crawley stepped purposefully into the room decidedly not stopping, as she usually would, to run her fingers along the book's leather-bound spines, almost in the same manner that Edith would the keys of a pianoforte.

But not today, today she was in her father's library/study for a much more serious and pressing matter than to borrow a book from his collection. "Good morning, Papa."

"Good morning, Sybil", Robert Crawley greeted over the top of the newspaper, turning its pages and scowling in disapproval at the reports on Prime Minister William Gladstone's newest, and in his opinion most ridiculous, liberal reforms.

They were reforms that his youngest daughter would, no doubt, approve of.

"Ghastly fellow", Robert muttered to himself, scanning the rest of the paper for something that he deemed more worthy of his time. "No wonder her majesty despises the foolish old chap."

Sybil was more than certain of the identity of the politician who the jibe was intended for.

However, despite her initial urge to back up the actions of The Liberal Party, she swallowed her words carefully and barely repressed a very unladylike eye roll at her father's comment.

(-an eye roll that would have, no doubt, earned her a firm scolding from the Dowager Countess had her grandmother been present.)

She was well aware that it was best not to attempt to fight all of one's battles at once, especially when it came to her diehard conservative father and his well meaning but frankly far too overprotective tendencies.

Anyway, she wasn't going to tell him precisely where her plans for the day were to be taking her, just that they shouldn't expect to see her for a few hours.

"Papa", Sybil said sweetly, "Mama, Mary and Edith are taking lunch with the Napiers today. I was wondering if I could be excused from attending."

Finally getting the full attention of her father, Robert Crawley glanced up from his newspaper, a suspicious frown etched on his face.

He was greeted with the sight of his youngest daughter's most innocent smile.

It was a smile that he had seen her wear on countless of occasions as a child when caught behaving unapologetically in a manner that was totally unbefitting of an Earl's daughter.

It was a smile that clearly said that she was going to do whatever she pleased with or without his consent but would rather be sweet about discussing the matter in the meantime.

Already, Robert knew that his kind but stubborn Sybil would end up getting whatever she wanted from him in the end, despite the words of protest that he could already feel coming to his lips.

After all, he found it near impossible to deny anything to his three quite persistent girls, despite his initial protestations and hesitations.

It was a quality in him that his mother often berated him for, calling him soft. His American wife Cora, however, found his antics rather endearing.

"I beg your pardon", he asked, curious as to what his daughter deemed more important than attending luncheon with a dear family friend.

Sybil's smile widened, imagining her dearest father's reaction if she told him that she intended to attend a meeting for the women's cause.

"Well Papa, you really mustn't worry in the slightest...

* * *

...

The Speaker's Corner

Hyde Park

London

...

_"Courage calls to courage everywhere and it's voice cannot be denied". _

The voice of Millicent Fawcett washed over the masses that were gathered in the speaker's corner of Hyde Park. The strident timbre of her voice, the cacophony of rousing cheers, the frequent murmurs of approval, the whooping, the hollering and the stamping of feet.

A spontaneous outpour of emotion. Of bodies pressing against bodies in an attempt to get closer to the podium on the slightest chances that one could either make their own voice heard or hear the speech at even a few decibels louder.

It was wonderful chaos, making up a wall of sound that just added to the infectious excitement that Sybil could feel swelling up like a balloon inside of her chest.

The anticipation for a fairer future was palpable, she could sense it in the charged air around her.

There was something magical, inspiring and liberating about being part of a crowd like this.

Sybil was surrounded by faces that echoed the same feelings as the ones that she held within...that sort of unity for a cause that she so firmly believed in, it was freeing to be lost in a crowd like that.

In spite of the deafening shouting and the pushing and shoving from all sides, the young aristocrat felt more at home now than she ever felt in any ballroom or on any social call.

A change was coming, she could feel it!

_"However benevolent men may be in their intentions, they cannot know what women want and what suits the necessities of women's lives as well as women know these things themselves." _

Near the front of the crowd, an outcry of support and applause burst forth from a cluster of women about Sybil's own age (or perhaps a little older) while a scattering of older ladies and younger gentlemen, both of which clearly agreed with the statement also, simply nodded in response.

Quickly finding that she too was nodding in the affirmative, Sybil felt herself buzzing in anticipation for the future Ms Fawcett and the other suffragists spoke of. It was a future where women and men were recognised both socially and politically as equals.

'...because why shouldn't both sexes enjoy the same freedoms', Sybil thought determinedly. 'Enjoy the same respect, the same education and the same opportunities!

The thought was eye opening, liberating!

"_I cannot say I became a suffragist",_ Millicent Fawcett announced. _"I always was one from the time I was old enough to think about the Representative Governmen_t."

Setting aside the image of her beloved father and grandmother's frowns of surprise and disapproval at such as display in public, Sybil felt herself smiling and laughing at the interjections of well timed humour in Ms Fawcett's speech and later even found herself clapping and cheering just as heartily as the rest when the proceedings seemed almost at it's end.

"_Men are not benefited anything injurious to women. If the exclusion of women from the franchise is unjust and injurious to the interests of women, the removal of their limitations will be a gain to men and women alike."_

* * *

Later, when the crowds began to disperse, Sybil was just about to move in the direction of The Victoria Gates, the closest exit in the park to St James Square.

Still reeling, she could feel the rush of adrenaline pumping through her system at the countless possibilities for the future of the women's cause, a cause that Sybil now knew wanted to be a part of more than ever.

Surely it would only be a matter of time before women were granted the vote!

Already, Sybil was running through every detail in her mind that she would share with Gwen, her friend and lady's maid, as soon as she returned to Grantham Place for dinner.

After all, Gwen seemed just as inspired by the seemingly imminent changes for women in society and in government as Sybil did.

The young redheaded maid had always lent a rather enthusiastic ear whenever the daughter of her employer needed to vent about the latest piece of feminist writings that she had managed to quietly get her hands on at the bookstore in Ripon.

Suddenly, Sybil was pulled back to reality by a man's voice that came from somewhere beside her.

"I take it that this was your first", he said with a thick accent that she couldn't quite place.

Without even looking Sybil could hear a smile in the tone of his voice and immediately felt her cheeks flush in defence.

Surely she hadn't looked so out of place that he could have so easily determined such a thing!

She whirled around quickly, preparing to adopt the no nonsense scowl of her grandmother and eldest sister.

However, instead of being on the receiving end of a smirk like she had expected, Sybil was met with the sight of a man about her own age, if not a few years her senior...a man with dark blonde hair and a kind but somewhat cheeky smile.

That and a pair of the brightest blue eyes that she had ever seen.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has been so kind in their reviews so far. I really really hope you continue to enjoy this story! Please leave me a review, tell me what you liked/didn't like/want to see in future chapters etc. Constructive criticism is great.**

**I really hope you are having a lovely weekend.**

**Thanks,**

**Pearlydewdrop xx**

* * *

**A little bit of history/mythology** :

**Nut** (Ancient Egyptian) , also known by various other transcriptions, is the goddess of the sky, stars, cosmos, mothers, astronomy, and the universe in the ancient Egyptian religion.

**Geb** was the Egyptian god of the Earth and later a member of the Ennead of Heliopolis. He had a viper around his head and was thus also considered the father of snakes. It was believed in ancient Egypt that Geb's laughter created earthquakes and that he allowed crops to grow.

**William Ewart Gladstone** PC FRS FSS (29 December 1809 – 19 May 1898) was a British statesman and Liberal politician. In a career lasting over 60 years, he served for 12 years as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, spread over four terms beginning in 1868 and ending in 1894. He also served as Chancellor of the Exchequer four in office in early 1886, Gladstone proposed home rule for Ireland but was defeated in the House of Commons. Gladstone was apparently disliked by Queen Victoria and many Monarchists.

**Millicent Garrett Fawcett** (1847 – 1929) was a leading Suffragist and campaigner for equal rights for women. She led the biggest suffrage organisation, the non-violent (NUWSS) from 1890-1919 and played a key role in gaining women the vote. Reflecting her passion for education, she helped to found Newnham College, Cambridge. She also engaged in other political activities such as supporting worker rights and overcoming laws which were based on a dual morality for men and women.

**Speakers' Corner** is a traditional site for public speeches and debates since the mid 1800's when protests and demonstrations took place in Hyde Park. Speakers' Corner is located on the north-east edge of Hyde Park, nearest Marble Arch and Oxford Street. In 1872, an act of parliament set aside this part of Hyde Park for public speaking. Even today, on a Sunday morning, it's not unusual to find crowds gathering at Speakers' Corner to listen to enthusiasts expounding their views. Anyone can turn up unannounced to speak on any subject, as long as the police consider their speeches lawful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_..._

_Branksom House _

_London _

_1886_

_..._

"You must be truly so pleased to be expecting again...", Henrietta Napier, the Viscountess of Branksom, crooned happily over luncheon, apparently oblivious to the art of tactfulness (unlike her son and husband who were absolute darlings most of them time, but quickly proved themselves to be unfortunately dull conversationalists). "A final chance to produce a son and heir..."

Spending time with the likes of Henrietta Napier often felt rather more like going for a swim in a tank full of jellyfish as apposed to engaging in the casual friendly conversation of acquaintances.

Cora Crawley smiled civilly over the rim of her teacup, having grown very accustomed to such ridiculous and tatty behaviour from the wives of Robert's peers...especially those who, like Henrietta Napier, had managed to provide the ancestral estate with a male heir on the first try.

Lord knows, she had heard enough of the same sort of underhanded nonsense from her mother in law after she had consecutively given birth to her and Robert's three daughters nearly two deacades earlier.

Over the years, Cora Crawley had very come to much fancy herself a person who had grown a practically bulletproof skin to underhanded nastiness. Unfortunately it had come with the territory of living in such a close proximity to her mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess of Grantham.

_'Americans, at least, are upfront with their insults',_ she thought frustratedly to herself, thinking of her own mother and brother's bluntness in social situations.

Discreetly, Cora found herself glancing down the dining room table to where her eldest daughter was seated, on the off chance that it may prove a small respite of The Viscountess's unwanted comments.

It appeared that Mary had been joined by Henrietta's son Evelyn and was apparently having a far better time at luncheon than her mother and Edith combined, (the latter of which was sitting awkwardly in her seat, sipping tea on the sidelines of two separate conversations that she had no desire to be part of)

_'Poor Edith.'_

Cora sighed deeply, feeling a momentary swell of pity for her middle daughter as the tinkling sound of Mary's musical laughter filled the dining room.

Perhaps, Edith would have been better off to have done something else with her day as Sybil had opted to do.

Regretfully, Cora turned back to her own luncheon companion and the conversation they were having, thinking wistfully of _'the things we do for our daughters'. _

Oh, if only Mary would choice to pursue a wealthy and titled young man who had a mother that that she, Cora, could bare being in the company of.

...Matthew of course was the most obvious candidate for the role.

Since the untimely death of Patrick Crawley, Robert's original heir, a union between Matthew and Mary had quickly become something that Cora wished her daughter would give more genuine consideration to.

After all, despite his initial misgivings about becoming heir to an estate like Downton, Matthew had since revealed himself to be a kind-hearted and eloquent young man, his quick cleverness a perfect match for Mary's own ferocious wits any day of the week.

They truly would make such a striking pair.

"That's very kind of you to say", Cora replied, her voice dripping with a feigned tone of sweetness when she finally decided to respond to Henrietta's earlier comments. "But I must admit that Robert and I would be equally happy with a son or a daughter. We have, after all, grown very fond of Matthew over the last few years."

Following this, Cora laid a comforting hand on her still relatively small but already quite rounded baby bump, as though reassuring her unborn child that their Mama would be absolutely thrilled with whatever gender they turned out being when the time came for their birth.

Henrietta tutted, almost sounding like she felt pity for the woman sitting at the table opposite her.

"Oh Cora, I assure you that there is nothing more comforting than the knowledge that your home and fortune will be in the capable hands of your own flesh and blood when you're gone."

Cora sighed deeply and somehow managed a gracious, albeit slightly tense and tight lipped, smile.

After all, she knew that there would be no point starting a quarrel with a woman who could very well become her daughter's mother in law in the near future should the family's hope for Matthew not come to fruition.

"Well, let's hope that no such thing will happen for a very long time, shall we?"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, Mary was forcing herself to appear as though she were enjoying the company of one Evelyn Napier...and not trying terribly to stifle a yawn at his lifeless attempts at conversation.

The forced laughter, the feigned smiles...it made her yearn desperately for the long evenings at Downton where she would spend her time engaged in oftentimes vicious verbal sparring matches with a certain scholarly blonde haired someone.

Nevertheless, Mary swore to herself that she wouldn't ever speak of such desires aloud to anyone, especially her mother and sisters who would simply leap at the idea of her missing the companionship of Matthew.

_'No', _Mary scolded herself firmly, turning her attention to the much better suited man that sat before her. Matthew would surely make some girl a very fine husband, but that girl wasn't her.

So with a concealed air of futility, Mary tried to return to her conversation with Evelyn.

Ever since she had met Evelyn Napier, four years previously, when she had first come out in society; Mary had deemed him to be a fairly pleasant, wonderfully rich and reasonably handsome young gentleman...qualities that would make him, by default, an ideal husband given her family's circumstances and Matthew's currently unstable state of affairs.

...and to make matters even better, the future Viscount of Branksom seemed not only interested in her in return, but seemed deeply flattered by her attentions.

Everything would have been absolutely perfect, if only she didn't find Evelyn so frightfully boring!

"I wondered if you would mind terribly if a friend of mine joined us at the ball tonight", Evelyn said cautiously-as though such a simple request could tear him forever from Mary's good graces. "I wouldn't ask but he has proven himself to be quite intrigued at the prospect of the London social season. I thought it best to take the poor chap under a wing. After all, he will know nobody else there."

Mary smiled a little too cheerfully once again, uncertain of how much londer she could continue feigning interest in the subjects that Evelyn deemed worthy of conversation. _'_

_'Hmm, perhaps she would have to look a little further than the eldest son of The Viscount of Branksom in her search for a husband.'_

"He's a Turkish diplomat", Evelyn continued, apparently oblivious to Mary's disinterest. "And a frightfully charming fellow too, even if he does come across as somewhat of an enigma to most people. A Mr Kemal Pamuk. Perhaps you've heard of him?"

Mary huffed out a laugh, unable to stop her somewhat judgemental self from bursting forth after so long spent on her best behaviour. She had to admit she was amused by the prospect, a turk in an English ballroom. "Oh I can imagine him now. A funny little foreigner with a wide toothy grin and hair reeking of pomade."

At her comment, Evelyn smirked good-naturedly. "I wouldn't quite say that."

* * *

**Well guys, its quite a bit shorter than usual and there's nothing too historical in this chapter so my Author's Notes are going to be brief. Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter (or didn't). I would absolutely love to hear from you. A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, it has been a great motivation to continue this story. **

**Next up, back to Sybil and Tom! **

**Until next time, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

...

The Victoria Gates

Hyde Park

1886

...

_Suddenly, Sybil was pulled back to reality by a man's voice that came from somewhere beside her._

_"I take it that this was your first", he said with a thick accent, an accent that she couldn't quite place._

_Without looking, Sybil could hear a smile in the tone of his voice and immediately felt her cheeks flush in defence._

_Surely she hadn't looked so out of place that he could have so easily determined such a thing!_

_She whirled around quickly, preparing to adopt the no nonsense scowl of her grandmother and eldest sister._

_However, instead of being on the receiving end of a smirk like she had expected, Sybil was met with the sight of a man about her own age, if not a few years her senior...a man with dark blonde hair and a kind but somewhat cheeky smile._

_That and a pair of the brightest blue eyes that she had ever seen._

* * *

As soon as the words had left his mouth, it seemed as though the young man must have noticed how his comment had sounded to Sybil.

Awkwardly he scratched the back of his neck, not quite meeting her eye.

"I'm sorry", he amended genuinely." I didn't mean it like that."

Sybil felt a rush of heat in her neck and cheeks as she inadvertently looked him up and down, noticing for the first time just how handsome a man he was

...more handsome, in her opinion, than any gentleman had business being.

Again, she found herself—almost as a means of distraction from the way his eyes seemed to linger- unable to place his accent...only noting that it was a soft, lilting brogue; a sound that, even though she would never admit to it aloud, she would happily listen to all day.

The thought made her cheeks only redden further.

Slowly, Sybil felt her adopted scowl vanish and she gave him a kind and forgiving smile.

After all, she wasn't one to hold grudges and it was clear that the whole situation had simply been a misunderstanding.

"It's quite alright...", she managed to squeak, sounding and feeling almost comically unlike herself.

Gracelessly they stood opposite one another for a moment, both feeling as though they should start moving on with their day, but for some reason not wanting too...

He glanced up at her properly and Sybil felt her flush deepen under his penetrating blue gaze.

_'For goodness sake',_ she thought, internally berating herself for her silly behaviour. _'You have seen handsome men before!_

Sybil tried fixing him with a teasing smirk.

It was an action that she hoped would cover up her earlier embarrassing bashfulness.

(Never mind how she was still in the act of willing her cheeks to return to their natural colour.)

"...but even so I must ask, what gave me away?"

The man smiled, a smile that reached his eyes and caused her heart to pick up it's pace until she could feel it thumping hard against the thick material of her tightly laced corset.

_Oh golly, what was happening to her!—This was real life not an Austen or Bronte novel!_

"To be honest; I saw the look on your face when Ms Fawcett was talking, it reminded me of how I felt the first time I attended a protest back at home."

Despite the initial foreign and tingling sensations that were gushing around and wreaking havoc in the pit of her stomach, Sybil looked up at him, suddenly feeling intrigue alongside attraction.

Aside from Gwen, she had never spoken to another person who was interested in the same liberal politics as herself...evidently people like that didn't tend to frequent the Yorkshire homes of the British aristocracy or the ballrooms of their London residences.

But right now, she found herself standing opposite a man who attended both protests and suffragist rallies...that seemed rather like someone with whom she could happily spend time chatting with.

Suddenly, Sybil found herself all the more tempted to stay than she had before.

"Do you do this often?"

"What?", the young man laughed, giving her a hint of that cheeky grin she had noticed almost immediately about him.

His eyes flashed in amusement, clearly having bested his own initial awkwardness as well.

"You mean, do I usually go around making an arse of myself by accidentally insulting pretty lasses who I've never met before?...God I hope not."

Going by the slightly sheepish look on his face, it was clear that the compliment had unconsciously slipped out, but he didn't seem to regret it...on the contrary, he looked rather pleased with himself.

Sybil couldn't help the slight giggle that escaped her lips.

It wasn't that she hadn't heard such things from gentlemen before...but she never had heard it with such openness and sincerity.

His words made her toes curl in her shoes and caused her body to flood with warmth all over again.

"Well", she answered brightly, feeling rather bold. "You've met me now, haven't you? My name is Sybil Crawley."

For some reason she found herself omitting her title. There was something rather enticing about just being 'Sybil Crawley' rather than 'Lady Sybil' or the 'youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham'...even if was in the eyes of only one person.

"Tom Branson", he replied, offering her a cock-sure smile that was, in equal parts, both flirty and playful.

She found herself liking it...liking it very much.

_'What a strange way to be feeling, especially about a perfect stranger'_, Sybil thought, biting her lip as she caught herself, once again, taking in the sight of the man before her-this time slightly more unabashedly than she originally had.

Looking at Tom was rather like looking directly at the sun, the more she told herself not to do it, the more she found herself desperately wanting to.

Sybil wondered what her family would make of such an interaction, a young man and woman initiating a conversation, forgoing the customary formal introduction and without any chaperone present.

_What a scandal!_

She could almost hear her father's spluttered protests and see her grandmother's stern frown at the mere notion of an encounter like that.

But all of her doubts were silenced by Tom's next question, a question that she had never been asked before without it being paired closely with either a sigh of affectionate exasperation or a condescending smirk...Neither of which she received from the sincere-eyed young man standing mere feet in front of her.

"So you support women's rights?", Tom asked, apparently eager to make conversation.

She couldn't help but note how his eyes never seemed to leave her own and even though the were surrounded by people either on their way home from the rally or simply just out for a stroll in the afternoon sunlight, the atmosphere between the pair of them felt intimate, electric, compelling.

They may as well have been alone...

Sybil felt herself smiling, smiling freely under his attentive gaze...and found herself just as eager to continue talking to Tom.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

* * *

Tom felt lightheaded and dizzy, like he'd been repeatedly clobbered over the head.

...and it was all because of her.

As absolutely bizarre as it may sound (and believe you and me, he knew it sounded bizarre...), from the moment he had first accidentally met her, it had seemed as though Sybil Crawley had said one thing and he another...and suddenly, Tom had found himself wanting their conversation to go on forever.

He could only imagine his brother Kieran's merciless eye roll at such a hopelessly romantic notion, not to mention how his friend Seamus would tease him senseless if he were to so much as mumble a heartfelt confession about any woman (let alone a woman he barely knew) aloud.

Tom found himself increasingly and increasingly unwilling to look away from her, his gaze was constantly drawn back to...her face, her eyes, her smile, her lips...like a moth was always inextricably drawn back to a flame.

He found himself talking...more than he knew he ought to be (after all, his mother had often accused him of having twice as much a gift of the gab than was good for anyone) but Sybil didn't seem to mind, in fact she was just as much of a chatterbox as he was!

It was another thing he added to the rapidly growing list of thing that he liked about Sybil Crawley.

"So you're a politician!", she declared, evidently quite impressed. "That must be ever so exciting"

Tom felt a swell of pride at her words.

He had only just told her, when she asked what he did, about his recent election into The Irish Parliamentary Party and how he had made a name for himself at home in Ireland after getting involved in the farming community's protests against rent racking.

...and to his surprise not only was she impressed, but she seemed to agree with his views, despite how he had originally considered his beliefs to be so entwined with his upbringing in Ireland.

She was political, open minded and believed as strongly in fairness and justice as he did...and Tom felt totally, completely and utterly drunk on her.

Sybil seemed interested, sympathetic and eventually upset by the stories he told her of the poverty, the tragedy, the oppression and the pain of his homeland-stories that inevitably lead to her understanding his reasons to be here in London, here with the rest of the IPP to fight Ireland's corner in parliament.

She agreed with him! She understood!

It was a comradery he had never expected to feel with a young English woman.

After a while, Tom found herself smiling sheepishly at Sybil. "I'm sorry, love", he said, eventually realising how long he must have been talking for. "I promise that I don't mean to wear you out."

Sybil shook her head, still seeming as sincerely interested as she had earlier. "Don't be silly, Tom", she assured him, her cheeks a little pink —'_perhaps, _he thought,_ it was to do with him calling her love, but he couldn't be fully sure —. _"There's nothing nicer than talking to someone who's passionate about their beliefs."

Tom tilted his head, looking down at her questioningly.

It struck him then how little he knew about her, and how much more he wanted to know.

"What about yourself then, your passions...", Tom asked, curious to know what brought her to Hyde Park today-this woman whom he felt so unexplainably drawn to, both intellectually and physically but barely knew. "How did your interest in politics come about?"

At this, he was rewarded with a discreet smile, a smile that set Sybil's blue eyes alight with mischief and, subsequently, made him feel rather hot under the collar

_...God Lord, he knew that he could end up making a total fool of himself if only it meant he would see more of her smile._

A smile that was both challenging and endearing as it wreaked havoc in his mind and heart.

"I came upon a copy of Ms Wollstoncraft's Vindication of Rights for Women when I was fifteen...", Sybil told him with a grin, as though this were some illicit secret that few others were privy to."...and my poor Papa rues the day it opened my head to politics."

Tom chuckled, adding rebellious to the growing list of things he knew about Sybil Crawley.

Vaguely he wondered what her father would make of him, but set that thought quickly aside.

"So I assume he doesn't know you're here then?"

"You would assume right", Sybil replied, biting her lip as though selecting her next words carefully. She seemed hesitant to say what next came out of her mouth, and Tom found himself hanging on her words. "Papa does mean well but...I think he would explode at the idea of my being here."

"Here at a rally or here with an Irishman?", Tom asked the question lightheartedly and with a smile, but he knew she could see the seriousness hidden in his eyes.

"Both probably."

Her reply was honest. He may not know her very well yet but that much was apparent.

Sybil glanced up at him with a smile that reassured him, it told him that she was anything but sorry for how her day had turned out.

And slowly, Tom felt himself relax and return the sentiment until he too was grinning like an eejit.

Her family may not approve, but she seemed to like him as much as he liked her!

"I'll see you again, won't I?"

"I'll make sure of it."

* * *

**Note on Irish Slang:**

**eejit: **a more endearing and far less harsh way of saying 'idiot'. Meant usually in a lighthearted/teasing fashion.

* * *

**A little bit of history:**

**In the wake of the Irish famine, many thousands of Irish peasant farmers and labourers either died or left the country. Those who remained waged a decades long campaign for better rights for tenant farmers and ultimately for land re-distribution.**

This period, known as the "Land War" in Ireland, had a **nationalist as well as a socialist** element. The reason for this was that the land-owning class in Ireland, since the period of the 17th century Plantations of Ireland, had been composed of Protestant settlers, originally from England, who had a British identity. The** Irish (Roman Catholic) population widely believed that the land had been unjustly taken from their ancestors and given to this Protestant Ascendancy during the English conquest of the country.**

**The Irish National Land League,** was formed to defend the interests of tenant farmers, at first demanding the "Three Fs" – **Fair rent, Free sale and Fixity of tenure.** Members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, such as Michael Davitt, were prominent among the leadership of this movement and **organised protests and arranged the boycotting of Protestant Landlords.** When they saw its potential for popular mobilisation, nationalist leaders such as Charles Stewart Parnell also became involved.

**Rent Racking: Historically rack-rent has often been a term of protest used to denote an unjustly excessive rent (the word "rack" evoking the medieval torture device), usually one paid by a tenant farmer.** In Ulster in the 1700s, "... landlords were able to 'auction off' leases to the highest bidders. That practice, known as 'rack renting', forced renters to bid more than they could afford to pay."

* * *

**Author's Notes: I hope you guys enjoyed that! Let me know what you thought in the reviews. This chapter was a particularly hard one to write (and is my longest so far), so I really would love as much feedback as you guys have time to give. I would really really appreciate it :) **

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far, it means so much and is the best motivation! **

**Anyways, I hope you all have a really lovely weekend. **

**Thanks again, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_..._

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

For an hour or so each day, just as the cool evening breeze began lazily making its way over London, an unlikely pair stole away from their respective lives to meet with one another, not secretly exactly-for one could hardly say that there was anything too illicit or improper about their frequent meetings- but...quietly.

Sybil hurried down the street, an easy smile on her face as the heels of her shoes 'clickity-clacked' against the concrete pavements.

She thought of her first few weeks in London and sighed contentedly.

However, her happiness was not for the reasons that her family may suspect should they notice her discreet smiles.

It wasn't the glamorous balls or the dances or the conversations with suitors over glasses of red wine and expensive champagne that had made her first season out in society so utterly memorable thus far.

Instead, what stood out most in her mind were the moments that she had yet to tell a soul about...those precious borrowed hours that Sybil had spent sneaking out through the servants entrance and disappearing down the street to find a certain young Irishman.

'It feels natural', Sybil mused silently, in that moment finally admitting to herself what she wouldn't dare admit to anyone out loud. 'It feels natural and nice to spend time with Tom Branson.'

Sybil's confession caused her stomach flutter, a reaction that she tried desperately to convince herself (with a voice that sounded rather like her sister Mary's) was nothing but silliness and childishness.

Tom Branson had become, most certainly, a dear friend and acquaintance to her over the last couple of weeks but nothing more could be said about the nature of their relationship with any kind of certainty.

(Despite what her heart so adamantly told her and what her eyes had seen shining back at her in his on so many occasions)

Sybil hadn't even told Tom that she was the daughter of the Earl of Grantham yet...a revelation that she was sure that her new friend wouldn't take all that well, especially considering his own steadfast political views...not to mention the fact that she had stayed silent on the matter for so long.

For as long as it had lasted, it had felt nice just being Sybil Crawley to someone... especally when that someone listened to her, challenged her, questioned her and argued with her without thinking it improper to behave in such a way with a lady.

No titles, no social formalities, no concerns about property or etiquette...just pure companionship.

Sybil sighed distractedly, feeling the familiar pang of guilt that she had come to associate with keeping the truth about her background from Tom.

Despite how uncomfortable it may be between them afterwards, she knew that she had to tell him who she truly was...Goodness knows, she felt she owed him that much.

Suddenly without any kind of forewarning, Sybil felt a hand reach out and engulf hers.

She was taken completely and utterly by surprise when she felt herself being steered into a gap between two of middle class looking houses that lined the streets.

The alley was a little darker than the bright evening streets and there was no one else around.

Panicking for a split second, Sybil instinctively began to start thrashing in an attempt to pull away but relaxed when she glanced up, coming face to face with the very man who had been in her thoughts.

Tom Branson.

"Jesus Christ, Tom", she shrieked, swatting him hard on the chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack!"

In that moment, Sybil ignored her fleeting considerations about how her grandmother would scowl vehemently if she saw her granddaughter, who was barely of age, acting so familiar with a man that the family knew nothing about.

Sybil took in the sight of the young blue eyed politician standing before her, dressed in the usual grey-green suit and slightly scruffy frock coat that he wore on his days in parliament.

He had that smile on his face; that same smile that Tom always wore when they first laid eyes on each other after being apart...it didn't matter if it had been hours or days, it was was always the same smile.

Sybil could feel her heart pound and stomach somersault_. 'How on earth does he do this to me?',_ she thought to herself, trying to control the red hot flush in her cheeks.

(After all, she really was standing very close to him...closer than she ever had with any other man, even when dancing.)

"I'm sorry, love", Tom said, eyeing her sheepishly, a look that made him appear far younger than his twenty four years.

Now that she was standing so close to him, Sybil could almost feel the excitment radiating off of his person.

The initial shock and annoyance that she had felt faded slightly when she saw the satisfaction and pure glee that was shining in his eyes.

"Tom, what's happened?"

Wordlessly, Tom reached into the pocket of his coat, presenting Sybil with a copy of the morning paper.

The infectious grin on his face reminded her of a child on Christmas morning.

_**'Gladstone and Parnell currently in talks for Irish Home Rule Bill'**._

Sybil looked up at Tom, surprise at the contents of the announcement coloured in her features.

She knew that Home Rule wasn't quite what he and the other more radical members of the Irish Parliamentary Party were after, but surely it was nothing if not a step in the right direction.

"This is fantastic, Tom!", she exclaimed, feeling genuinely pleased for the cause that meant so much to him. "Do you think Parliament will pass it?"

Tom shrugged. "Probably not", he replied, his smile not faltering as Sybil began reading the article.

"The blasted House of Lords would never let it through since most of them are bloody Land Lords themselves. No, it won't pass but it just shows that we're making progress."

Sybil sighed deeply, glancing up at him over the paper. Considering the thoughts that she had been having just before she met with him, Tom's words made her feel very cold.

"You know they're not all that bad", she said frostily, feeling rather defensive at his jibe at the expense of the land owning classes.

After all, Sybil was certain that her father had always treated the tenant farmers at Downton very fairly. Whenever she had met any of them, usually Mr Drew or Mr Mason, they had never had anything but words of respect and praise for her family and the decades long partnership between the Crawleys and the farming community who worked on the estate.

"I know that we're not at our best in Ireland but surely you know that some Land Lords treat their tenants very well", she informed him hotly, her cheeks flushed.

This didn't feel like one of their lively debates where their opinions clashed. This time their disagreement felt an awful lot more serious. The air around them crackled with intensity.

It was as though there was trail of gunpowder in her veins and Tom Branson held the only match.

Sybil knew that she was only seconds away from telling Tom the truth about her family. She could feel the words burning in her throat and pooling together thickly right on the tip of her tongue.

Tom frowned, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He was just a fiery as she was about her beliefs, if not even more so. "Treat their tenants well?", he challenged in utter disbelief. "Is that why over a million people died of starvation back in the 1840s? What did the Prods do when another famine threatened to break out only few years ago on the west coast? Absolutely feckin' nothing that's what. They forgot about us!"

Sybil folded her arms determinedly over her chest, the next words that left her mouth chosen in a totally haphazard fashion and coming out impulsively.

It was the make or break moment of their relationship.

"Well I can assure you, Tom Branson", she said, her nose held aloft in a way that did nothing if not betray the nature of her heritage to anyone with eyes to see. "My family has had nothing but good relations with our tenants for centuries. My father would never purposefully stand by and let them come to harm."

With eyes wide and searching, Tom looked dumbfounded...almost as though the reality of their situation had hit him like a runaway carriage. "You're...you're an aristocrat!"

* * *

**As always, a little bit of history...**

The **Government of Ireland Bill 1886**,commonly known as the **First Home Rule Bill**, was the first major attempt made by a British government to enact a law creating home rule for part of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. It was introduced in 8 April 1886 by Liberal Prime Minister William Gladstone to create a devolved assembly for Ireland which would govern Ireland in specified areas. The Irish Parliamentary Party under Charles Stewart Parnell had been campaigning for home rule for Ireland since the 1870s.

The **Great Famine** , or the **Great Hunger**, was a period of mass starvation and disease in Ireland from 1845 to 1849. During the famine, about one million people died and a million more emigrated from Ireland,causing the island's population to fall by between 20% and 25%. Many Land Lords began clearing the poor tenants from their small plots, and letting the land in larger plots for over £4. In 1846, there had been some clearances, but the great mass of evictions came in 1847. According to James S. Donnelly, Jr., it is impossible to be sure how many people were evicted during the years of the famine and its immediate aftermath. It was only in 1849 that the police began to keep a count, and they recorded a total of almost 250,000 persons as officially evicted between 1849 and 1854.

The **Irish famine of 1879** was the last main Irish famine. Unlike the earlier Great Famines of 1740–1741 and 1845–1852, the 1879 famine (sometimes called the "mini-famine" or __an Gorta Beag__) caused hunger rather than mass deaths

* * *

**Slang**

**Prods: slang for Protestant. **

* * *

**thank you all so much for your encouragement and patience. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. For everyone waiting out for some Mary and Matthew, I promise they will be making an appearance in the next chapter. **

**Anyways, in the meantime let me know what you thought of this chapter? Leave me a review! Tell me what you liked/didn't like/ would like to see more of. **

**Also, who's really freaking excited for the Downton movie coming out this week cos I know I am! **

**Talk soon!**

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_..._

_Colindale_

_London _

_1886_

_..._

Sighing distractedly, Tom tugged at his hair.

Feeling increasingly frustrated, he half heartedly tried to put some order back into the countless sheets of parchment that had ended up scattered haphazardly across his desk

It really didn't matter whether it was a drafts of the new Home Rule Bill or even a letter from his younger cousin Martin about how the land agitation protests were getting on at home...Tom couldn't concentrate on any of it.

It didn't matter what the subject was or how important it usually was to him, the young Irishman found himself completely unable to focus on any of it for more than a few sentences at a time...at least, not without his mind wandering, forever returning to her and their last conversation.

_Lady_ Sybil Crawley.

The song '_My Girl is a Yorkshire Girl',_ had been stuck in his head on a loop ever since Tom had watched her disappear into the crowd, frustration alight in her electric blue eyes.

No matter how hard he tried, Tom couldn't get the bloody song (or the girl he associated with it) out of his head...even if he had wanted to.

His thoughts were raging a furious battle against him, inextricably drawn back to Sybil and their final conversation with one another on a constant basis.

Tom had felt upset, confused and betrayed by the unexpected way in which she had revealed her secret. Meanwhile, Sybil had looked very much like she wanted nothing more than to slap him for his less than flattering comments about the land owning classes...men who, he now knew, were like her father apparently.

Tom hadn't known what to say, or where to even begin to reply-to talk about this newfound revelation like adults.

He had been too dumbfounded to say much of anything.

Following several charged moments where neither of them had said anything further, Sybil had turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the alley...standing there as he watched her go.

They hadn't spoken since.

Tom sighed deeply, shoving his paperwork aside as he finally gave up on getting anything even halfway productive done.

He tried to assure himself that their parting company was for the best.

After all, how could their attachment possibly have last beyond a few stolen weeks together during the London season. She was a lady: her family was a symbol of everything that he -Tom Branson- had been advocating against for the past seven years.

'Surely...', Tom thought adamantly, desperately trying to convince himself of the logic of his and Sybil's bizarre, surreal, impossible situation. '..I could never love a woman like that, a woman so different from myself in so many ways'.

He tried to convince himself that it could only ever end in heartbreak between them, that the social barriers that divided people like him from people like Sybil were too great to overcome. He told himself that neither of their families would ever approve.

Above all else, he tried (in vain) to convince himself that any of it truly mattered to him.

However, when Tom knew that if he took a step back and was honest with himself, he would see, as clear as day, that such arguments were completely moot.

In earnest, he knew deep down that there was no point in talking himself out of loving Sybil Crawley, because he already did...Tom was already a total goner and there wasn't a single thing he could do to stop himself.

Her kindness, her strength, her determination, her intelligence, her beauty...her general intoxicating Sybil-ness. She had been all he had able to think about for days, for weeks...right from the moment he had met her.

'Are we really that different?', Tom thought, his mind returning to easier days when they had happily spent hours wandering London together, deep in debate and conversation.

Sybil had felt like his equal then. He had connected with her in ways he had never felt connected to anyone else before. In her he had found a friend, a confidant, a sparring partner and a kindred spirit...or at least there was a time when Tom believed he had.

Was that the true Sybil Crawley?

And if it was, would her background really make a difference to him?

Despite the stern reasoning that his brain tried desperately to cling to, his heart told him it wouldn't...Tom was sure that he would still just as completely, utterly and hopelessly in love with Sybil if she was the bloody Queen of England.

Tom loved her...he loved Sybil.

And furthermore, he didn't even have the slightest idea of where he would begin looking for her to tell her of his feelings...to apologise for his bluntness.

If her feelings were the same as his, surely they could try to fight the obstacles so fervently keeping them apart.

Just then an obnoxiously loud knock came upon the front door of his flat, startling Tom from his thoughts.

"For feck's sake, Tommy! Will you stop your bloody brooding and moping around. You're only acting the amadhaún. We've got a job to do, get your arse out here!"

Tom sighed deeply at his friend Seamus's slightly bowsy but otherwise well meaning and enthusiastic voice. He slipped out of the chair by his desk, heading over to open the door.

Unbolting the lock, Tom was suddenly struck with an overwhelming desire to laugh aloud for the first time in days.

"Seamus, what in God's name are you wearing?"

With what appeared to be a new bowler hat and a set of freshly pressed tails, Tom's childhood best friend looked like a bloody toff! He couldn't believe his eyes!

"You'll have to wear one too, Branson", Seamus replied gruffly, reaching behind him to pull out another morning coat. "The Chief said we could borrow them from Captain O Shea for the evening. He's got quite the collection."

Tom frowned, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Generally, as long as they all showed up in parliament everyday, Parnell was fairly lenient upon how members of his party spent their free time.

They had never had to attend some posh government event before...and it was a good thing too.

But perhaps since Parnell was going out of his way these days to be on better terms with the Conservative Party in light of the upcoming vote on the Home Rule Bill, these things were slowly changing.

That didn't mean Tom had to like it!

"Seamus, I'll have you know that I'll not be going anywhere dressed like...that. It's the uniform of the oppressor!"

Seamus smirked, well used to his pig-headed friend's comments. He tipped his hat dramatically.

"Ahh, but you see that's the beauty of it. You and I, Tommy...we're wolves in sheep's clothing."

._.._

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

"You know Sybil, Mama seems rather adamant for you to get to know Lord Merton's eldest son", Mary said offhandedly as she adjusted the diamond earrings that she had received from their American grandmother during her own first season out in society.

"So can you promise me that I won't end up having to eat Christmas dinner with Larry Grey every year? I don't think I could put up with someone so insufferable as a brother in law."

Sybil rolled her eyes playfully, smiling at her eldest sister over her shoulder as she pushed herself up out of the chair by her dressing table, making her way over to the edge of the four poster to sit beside Mary.

"I can assure you that you will have no worries there."

At this Sybil glanced absentmindedly to the hiding place beneath her mattress, the place where she had carefully stowed away a few of the novels that she had discussed with Tom, not all of them political but shocking enough in other respects that it was best they were kept out of sight and out of mind from the rest of the house.

Despite the bad terms they had last parted on, Sybil couldn't help but miss him...miss their conversation, their banter and the way he was always made her blush without even trying.

Sybil missed how Tom's gaze would oftentimes darken and settle on her lips, making her feel lightheaded and dizzy. She missed the sound of his voice, that warm and comforting Irish brogue, and often found herself longing for the illicit sensation of his hand in her's.

Above all else, she missed his companionship.

Tom had become her anchor and sanity amidst the over-the-top madness that had been the London Season. He had quickly become the one person with whom she could share her opinions with without the feat of being thought silly or childish or too much of an idealist.

However, her pleasant thoughts about the young Irishman had turned more than a little sour as of last, especially when she found herself recalling their final meeting in that darkened alleyway.

(Even when it was the last thing in the world she wanted to think about)

Since that day, Sybil had relucantly accepted that perhaps she had acted a little harshly when she stalked off on Tom mid conversation after his accidental insulting comment towards her father (or rather men like him).

True, she had left out a few vital details when discussing her family with Tom when he had asked her about her parents and sisters, but that didn't mean she was entirely the one at fault.

Both of them had been in the wrong, and in equal measures...Tom shouldn't have said the things he did and she shouldn't have put him in a position where the truth of her background had proved such a surprise.

Sybil knew that Tom couldn't be entirely blamed for the impact of his rather hurtful words. After all, how could he have known her father was an Earl before she had entrusted that particular secret with him.

She and Tom had come from very different backgrounds, backgrounds where their mind-sets on certain aspects of society were very different...surely having a disagrement would eventually become inevitable.

On one hand, Sybil could understand where Tom was coming from.

After all, she knew that the conditions in Ireland were terrible for so many working class people, the mere fact that there was an uprising over there every few decades was proof enough of that.

The young aristocrat wasn't foolish or naive enough to ignore the fact that much of the problems across the pond were the fault of the British landlords...but, and there was a but, she also didn't see the matter in the same black and white manner that Tom did.

Sybil believed that it was more than possible to be born of the land owning classes and still strive to be a good and decent person, her own father-a man that despite their political differences she had always looked up to and loved-was a prime example of that.

Couldn't Tom not see that it was equally as unjust to paint the entirety of the land owning classes as heartless tyrants as it was to view the whole of the Irish working class population as alcoholics and hooligans.

More than anything, Sybil wanted for Tom to see that aspect of the class system through her eyes, if only for a moment. The world wasn't split into good and evil, humanity had dozens of shades in between.

Just then a comment from Mary sharply pulled Sybil from the depths of her thoughts.

"It seemed to me as though you looked very taken with that Tom fellow?"

At her sister's unexpected words, Sybil's head shot up-immediately wondering what had given her away. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of scarlet as her mind scanned through all the possible way in which Mary could have found out about her and Tom Branson's wonderful but complicated friendship.

Would Mary tell on them?...surely she wouldn't.

"Excuse me?"

"That gentleman you were talking with at Imogen's Ball...Tom Bellasis, wasn't?"

At this Sybil relaxed, immediately realising who her sister was talking about. Silently, she counted her lucky stars that she had been as discreet as she was when sneaking out to spend time with Tom...her Tom.

"Tom Bellasis and I only spoke that one night at Imogen's coming out. He found her uncle's speech rather amusing."

"And so did you, if I remember correctly?"

Sybil shrugged, smiling politely as she began to try and recover her wits after her initial shock at Mary's perfectly innocent question.

"Mr Bellasis is a perfectly agreeable man and I'm sure he would make a wonderful friend but..."

Mary laughed lightly at her younger sister's ever present kindness and tactfulness. "Darling, you can tell me outrightly if you aren't interested in someone. I won't think ill of you for it."

Humming to herself, Sybil rolled her eyes once more.

"I'm sure you wouldn't", she replied with a teasing smile, more than ready to steer the conversation back to safer waters least Mary ask her if she had met someone in London whom she actually had a real interest in.

Sybil wasn't sure if she could lie convincingly about Tom Branson if asked on the spot about him...and she knew for a fact that she wasn't ready to talk about him yet, not when she was so unsure about where they stood.

Goodness, how she wanted to talk to Tom, longed to talk to him.

But Mary most certainly didn't need to know any of that...

"I recall you had some choice words to say about Evelyn Napier after you took luncheon with him and his mother", Sybil said, deciding on a safer topic. "Will you be seeing more of him?"

"I'm afraid that I already promised to met with a friend of his this evening so I don't think I will be able to completely avoid him. Evelyn's a darling in his own way, but he is a dreadful bore. I think I could do rather better."

At this Sybil smirked good-naturedly, a teasing smile widening on her face.

"I hear that cousin Matthew is coming up to London for the ball this evening. Didn't you find him a good deal less boring than Evelyn?"

At this Mary scowled, her pale complexion garnering a barely noticeable pink tinge, an involuntary response that betrayed her otherwise cool exterior.

Sybil fought the urge to giggle at the flustered sight of her ridiculously stubborn older sister, her sister who still claimed to be oblivious to her true feelings for Matthew Crawley despite the undeniable truth of the matter that was clearly written on her face for the world to see.

Mary sighed, seemingly trying to decide whether or not she could talk openly with her little sister on the complicated and confusing topic of her love life.

"Sybil darling, a long time ago I made peace with the idea that one day I may have to marry a man like Evelyn Napier...but I don't believe that means I can't have a little fun with my youth first."

Sybil frowned, desperately trying to gauge what was going on in Mary's head...for the sake of her eldest sister's wellbeing more so than anything else.

Despite her efforts, she found nothing to go upon in her eldest sibling's eyes: not a single tell tale sign of what Mary had planned for the night ahead.

Sybil knew that the serious and frosty facade that Mary hid so well behind...was only just that: a facade.

In truth, her sister was no ice queen.

More so than almost anything, the youngest Crawley had an unwavering faith in her sister's goodness...goodness that was unfortunately buried far below the surface.

Mary wouldn't toy with Matthew's feeling for a night of fun, would she?

Sybil believed that her sister, despite all pretences, loved their cousin far too much for such cruel behaviour.

* * *

**Irish Slang: **

**Amadhaún: a fool...similar to eejit**

**The Chief: a nickname for Charles Stewart Parnell. **

**A little bit of history..**.

The November general elections brought about a hung Parliament in which the Liberals with 335 seats won 86 more than the Conservatives, with a Parnellite bloc of 86 Irish Home Rule MPs holding the balance of power in the Commons. Parnell's task was now to win acceptance of the principle of a Dublin parliament.

Parnell at first supported a Conservative government, and courted their support for the upcoming Home Rule Bill – they were still the smaller party (compared with the Liberals) after the elections – but after renewed agrarian distress arose when agricultural prices fell and unrest developed during 1885, Lord Salisbury's Conservative government announced coercion measures in January 1886. Parnell switched his support to the Liberals.

Captain William Henry O'Shea was an Irish soldier and Member of Parliament. He is best known for being the ex-husband of Katharine O'Shea, the long-time mistress of the Irish nationalist leader Charles Stewart Parnell.

My Girl is a Yorkshire Girl is an old Irish ballad mentioned in James Joyce's Ulysses


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8.**

...

St James Square

London

1886

...

Mary Crawley smiled teasingly from her place across from Sybil in the carriage.

The sound of the hourses hooves against the cobblestones was constant and soothing as they moved swiftly in the direction of yet another ball. The repetititon of the sounds and motion helped Mary quell her own nervous energy at the prospect the night ahead.

She smoothed down the non existent creases on her deep scarlet gown, dropping her voice to a whisper so she wouldn't be heard by the rest of the family-all of whom were dressed to the nines for the ocassion.

The eldest Crawley sister, despite her own better judgement, had been assalted by thoughts of Matthew all evening...or more particurarly what it would be like to see him again affer so many weeks apart.

She tried to convince herself that she didn't care about him in that way, that she didn't care how her heart would involutarily leap into her throat at the mere sight of him.

...or how his shining lopsided grin made her feel lightheaded.

...or how a small part of her didn't care that he may never inherit Downton.

_Goodness, it was enough to drive her mad!_

What Mary needed a distraction from her whirling thoughts but for now, without anyone else around to oblige, joking with her beloved baby sister was the best option open to her.

"I hear that most of parliment will be at the ball tonight, darling", she said, attempting to affectionatly poke fun at her sister's interest in current affairs.

"You'll have a chance to put your political prowess to good use."

At this revelation, Sybil flushed beet red, glancing up in surprise. "Do you know what parties will be there?"

Her younger sister's reaction was certainly rather more extreme than Mary had been expecting. She frowned suspiciously in return. "The Conservatives anyway as well as that smaller party they're forming a coalition with...the one that's always causing such a fuss. What was it called again?"

"That's the Irish Parlimentary Party!"

* * *

...

Branksom House

London Residence of The Napier Family.

London

1886.

...

Jaysus, if he heard one more cricket metaphor being used to describe a political situation, Tom Branson may just shoot himself.

'_What in the name of God was a sticky-wicket anyway_', Tom mused frustratedly. '_Because it feckin' well hasn't got a thing to do with Home Rule, I'm sure of that.'_

So far, it had been an evening of inconsequential polite conversation, canapés and wine, just as he had expected and dreaded from the moment he had set foot in the room.

Apparently it was all for the sake of Irish freedom, or so Parnell had tried to assure them when a few of the lads in the party with more radical Fenian leanings expressed their concern and outrage at having to play nice with members of The Conservative Party and The House of Lords, even if their efforts were to maintain the balance of power in Westminster should they be sucessful.

Playing nice may just give them the bargaining chip to negotiate Irish independence but despite the logic behind their plan, playing friends with those whose peers had enslaved his ancestors and stolen their lands felt wrong to Tom...in ways that he couldn't bring himself to ignore.

The prospect of spending his evening smiling and making merry in an aristocrat's ballroom while his cousins were at home in Ireland organising protests and monster meetings, made Tom feel like a bigger fraud than he had in his while life.

Here he was at some upper class Hooley, drinking copious amounts of alcohol with aristocrats who wanted to discuss nothing but cricket, hunting and how best to appease the Irish sufficiently enough to stifle an outright revolution, Tom could barely recognise himself.

He wanted nothing more than to retreat into the shadows until the evening was over, despite how Tom knew that voicing such a desire out loud would do nothing if not make him sound as though he were some idealistic and petulant child, especially to the older members of The IPP who already still saw him as such from time to time.

The young Irishman sighed deeply into his glass of scotch, feeling more and more like a bull in a china shop...but at least the booze wasn't half bad.

The tables were laden with expensive foods and wines, something that seemed particularly extravagant and wasteful to Tom, especially considering how there were so many people in other parts of the commonwealth struggling to put even the meagerest of foods on their tables.

It surely was a far cry from the parties he was used to back in Ireland-the nosy ceilís and free flowing Guinness, memories that made him almost homesick for Dublin and the pub his father and eldest brother owned there.

More as a distraction than anything else, Tom glanced around.

He took in the sight of the finely garbed men and women, chatting cordially or dancing at the centre of the room as though they did such things every day of the week—which Tom supposed that they probably did. He watched as they laughed and smiled and conversed with one another, some swaying tipsily with their drinks in hand.

For a moment he found himself seeing the people around him, not as the oppressors who had stolen his homeland or even the silly toffs that he couldn't fathom the logic behind, but as people, just people...or more accurately, Sybil's people.

The notion set off a myriad of feelings within him, most of them akin to confusion and confliction.

On one hand there was nothing that Tom wanted more for his country than the liberation of it's people after over seven hundred years under British rule, the people standing in front of him were -on a whole- an obstacle to that dream and thinking otherwise felt as though he were betraying the land of his birth.

On the other, a small part of him wanted to see Sybil's family as she so clearly did. For how, Tom asked himself, could people who were as cruel and brutal as he had always assumed the British aristocracy to be have raised some as wonderful as Sybil if there wasn't some good to be found in them somewhere.

It was a thought that had been niggling at him for days now, one that he couldn't quite silence, for it was in his mind almost as often as Sybil was...and she was always _always_ there in some shape or form.

All evening Tom had unconsciously kept an eye out for her among the crowd, his heart leaping in his chest whenever he heard laughter from across the room that sounded even vaguely like hers.

Each time he had been disappointed.

Despite the very different circumstances that he and Sybil had met under, Tom could easily imagine her here amongst her kind of people; with flowing skirts and her curls all pinned back. Sybil would be laughing and smiling good naturedly amongst her family and friends and dancing at the centre of the room, graceful and stunning as she always was—like a bird about to take flight.

Even though the image was a product of his own imagination, Tom felt a fleeting stab of envy ripple through him at the thought of another man being free to hold her close on the dance floor, in a way that he may never be.

_'For feck's sake',_ Tom thought to himself. How Sybil had managed to infiltrate his every waking and sleeping thought he would never know.

All he knew was that he wanted to tell her how he felt about her, needed to tell her, even if she rebuffed his affections.

"Thank heavens someone looks as out of place as I feel here tonight", a voice said somewhere to Tom's right, startling him from his thoughts of _Lady_ Sybil Crawley.

He glanced up, coming face to face with a very gentlemanly looking fella about his own age with light blonde hair and an easy genuine smile...quite a good deal more genuine than most of the people Tom had already met that night.

The man's fairly posh accent and demeanour told Tom that even though he may not believe himself to be someone who fitted in, he was definitely a lot more at home amongst the English aristocracy than Tom was.

"Forgive me, but you certainly don't look it."

The man smirked, taking a languid sip of his own drink—a whiskey.

"Mmmhh, perhaps I do these days. But a year ago it was another story".

The man shuffled his shoulders awkwardly in his morning coat-an action that reminded Tom of how he had probably looked all evening himself.

"My fortunes may have changed recently but I'm still a working class Manchester man deep down...despite what my mother would tell you", he said firmly as though he was trying to prove a point, to whom he was proving it to Tom didn't know-perhaps it was to himself.

The Englishman glanced across the room to a tall, pale dark haired woman that looked oddly familiar to Tom, especially around the nose and chin...why she did, he wasn't sure. He definitely hadn't seen her before anyway for Tom wasn't usually one to forget a face.

The woman seemed to be deep in conversation with two other men, one dark haired and British and the other European, if his olive skin was anything to go by.

She appeared to be a great deal more interest in the attention of the latter, fluttering her eyelashes at whatever joke he was currently telling.

The nameless blonde man who was still standing beside Tom took another healthy gulp from his glass, deeper this time, and sighed in frustration.

Raggedly, he ran an agitated hand through his heavily pomaded hair.

In that moment, without ever really knowing him: Tom recognised the other man's feelings as clear as day. He knew what love sickness looked like, it had stared back at him in the mirror every morning for weeks now...and if looks were not decieving, his new friend had it bad for the pale dark haired woman who was currently enjoying the attentions of another man.

Regaining his composure after a few moments, the friendly Englishman turned back to Tom, veiling the fleeting emotions that had been written on his face only seconds before.

He offered Tom his hand in the most authentic show of friendship and welcome that the Irishman had seen all night, pointedly looking away from the dark haired lady.

"I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself. My name is Matthew Crawley. And if I'm going by your accent, I assume you're here with Mr Parnell's lot."

Tom shook Matthew's offered hand, letting out a short bark of laughter for the first time since he had entered the ballroom. "An Irish mick and proud", he agreed with a half smile before returning the gesture and introducing himself. "I'm Tom Branson."

* * *

**Some Irish Slang: (from Urban dictionary because the description was too funny) **

**An Irish Mick**: Any person of Irish Catholic Descent. Can usually drink anyone under the table, and refers to that drink as a pint. Realises that Guinness is the only real beer, and could have a pint of Guinness and a potato for every meal.

* * *

**Some History: **

Parnell's new Irish Parliamentary Party emerged swiftly as a tightly disciplined, and on the whole, energetic body of parliamentarians with strict rules. The inauguration of the 'party pledge' in 1884 decisively reinforced that each member was required to sit, act and vote with the party, one of the first instances of a whip in western politics. The members were also paid stipends, or expense allowances from party funds, which helped both to increase parliamentary turnout and enabled middle-class members such as William O'Brien or later D. D. Sheehan attend parliament, long before other MPs first received state pay in 1911.

Now at his height Parnell pressed Gladstone to resolve the Irish Question with Home Rule, but the Liberals were divided. Parnell then sided with the Conservatives.

Gladstone's second government fell, and Lord Salisbury's Conservatives formed an administration. Both parties (The Liberals and The Conservatives) now courted Parnell.

* * *

**Hello Everyone. I really hope that you guys enjoyed that. Next up a collision between all of our beloved couples, what will happen? Any predictions?**

**Let me know what you guys think? Are you happy about Downton's best bromance making an appearance. What do you want to see from all of the characters and pairings as the story unfolds. Let me know!**

**I h****ope you all know how much I truly appreciate all of your support so far, your lovely reviews make my day!**

**I hope you all are having a great Thursday!**

**Pearlydewdrop xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_..._

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

"You look beautiful, darling", Cora Crawley praised tenderly, tucking a stray lock of Sybil's dark curls behind her ear. "My beauty and my baby", she said fondly. "All grown up."

Cora was very proud of the great success Sybil had proved herself to be in the past few weeks. She had always known her youngest would take to the London social scene like a duck to water. Among the family's peers in London, Sybil had conducted herself with the poise, elegance and good humour that Cora had always known her daughter to have, even when she had been just a little girl.

It was only Sybil's first season and Cora already knew that there was quite a few young men in London who seemed very interested in pursuing her and while Robert claimed that they should be in no rush with their youngest daughter considering how Mary and Edith were still unmarried, Violet was fervent in her belief that they should strike while the iron was hot.

Cora sighed, knowing all too well how her mother in law would be more than adamant to get her own way on the matter and would soon bring her son around to her way of thinking.

With this considered, The Countess of Grantham resolved to give her youngest daughter a heads up on the matter at hand. As a mother she felt that it was the least she could do.

Sybil smiled cheekily as she smoothed her fingers over the soft Indian silk of her pale blue gown.

"Well Mama, I won't be the baby for long now, will I?", she said with a bright smile, happily referring to the little sibling that The Crawley family would soon be welcoming into the world in a few months time. Smilingly, she glanced over her shoulder, away from the mirror to speak with her mother.

Cora laughed affectionately, brushing a hand over her stomach. She felt almost thankful that she would not have to discuss such matters with her unborn child for at least another eighteen years. "All four of you are my babies...", she said decidedly, smiling at both her grown daughter and her baby bump in turn. "...and you always will be."

The two women were quiet for some time, Sybil content to add the final touches to her outfit without the help of Gwen or Anna while her mother watched, seeming a little conflicted about the evening ahead.

Cora sighed deeply. She couldn't help but imagine what her daughter's reaction would be once she revealed to her the news that she had, in good conscience, decided that she must share with her.

After all, it had been apparent to nearly the whole family for quite some time that Larry Grey, the son of Lord Merton, had made it rather clear to both his own father and Robert that he intended to pursue Sybil's hand once she had made her debut in society.

"You know Lord Merton's eldest son will be at the ball tonight?"

Sybil schooled her features, recalling what Mary had said earlier about Larry's apparent interest in her.

She feigned ignorance, dabbing perfume on her wrists with a coolness that reminded her, rather startlingly, of her older sister. She fiddled thoughtfully with the end of the same golden necklace that her American grandmother had gifted her on her sixteen birthday, wondering how best to navigate the situation at hand.

"No, I'm afraid I didn't", she responded, trying to sound nonchalant at the idea of having attracted the unwanted attention of the last man in the world whom she would ever wish to garner the favour of. With a hidden smile, Sybil tried not to picture Larry Grey as the Mr Collins to her own Elizabeth Bennett. "Why do you ask?"

Cora hummed thoughtfully, responding to the question almost breezily. "No reason, darling. Only that he seems rather keen to spend time with you this evening."

"And what if I don't feel the same inclination to spend my evening with him?", Sybil replied, once again trying not to sound too impolite in light of the less than appealing proposal.

Frowning at the bluntness of her usually sweet and kind hearted daughter's unexpected reaction, Cora raised her eyebrows. "Oh Sybil, what's the matter? It isn't like you to say such a thing."

"But Mama", Sybil argued, feeling a little annoyed that her reluctance was being blamed on her own lapse of good character rather than Larry's incessant obnoxiousness. "Surely you would agree that Larry Grey is the most conceited and disagreeable man to ever enter a London ballroom? We'd be sure to drive one another totally mad!"

"Oh hush", Cora replied, the conversation going not nearly as well as she had hoped. While she had anticipated a certain reluctance on her romantic and idealistic daughter's part she had hoped that Sybil's common sense would prevail. "I'm not asking you to marry him, only to spend a few hours in his company with an open mind. Viscount Merton seems a handsome and intelligent man and he's got excellent prospects as his father's heir. Darling, I'm sure that you could do no better."

Sybil sighed distractedly but was determined not to back down.

Momentarily, she glanced away from her mother to the hiding place beneath her mattress where she had stowed away Tom's books.

Sybil couldn't help but wonder if Tom thought of her quite as often as she thought of him.

Her cheeks darkened at the idea. Although she had only known him a few weeks, his absence from her life felt like a chill wind in the chambers of her heart. She missed him, truly missed him...and it wasn't just their lively conversations and intellectual debates about women's suffrage and Ireland's independence, but him...Sybil missed Tom as a person.

She missed his companionship, his kindness, his determined conviction and how he seemed to understand her in a way that no one else ever had before. She missed his blue eyes and warm hands and how he made her heart pound and stomach come alive with butterflies.

(Goodness, a part of her even missed his pig-headed stubbornness, a match for only her own.)

"I don't think I will ever be able to do such a thing , Mama", Sybil said after a while, finally returning her attention to her mother. Her tone was much calmer this time but firmer than ever. "I'm sure that I could never be happy to marry for a position or out of duty...not when I could marry for love."

Cora sighed, her own frustration beginning to ebb at the honesty of her daughter's confession.

She approached Sybil, standing just behind her in the mirror until they were both watching the reflections of the other. She thought of herself when she was Sybil's age and how she had been terrified to leave her life in America behind to marry Robert but smiled, knowing now that it had all turned out for the better.

More than almost anything, she wished that she happiness for the most kind hearted of her three daughters.

"Perhaps, one day you could find both."

Sybil sighed distractedly, momentarily entertaining the idea of sharing her growing feelings for Tom Branson with her mother. Surely, her mother—an American born into the first generation of a wealthy family—wouldn't slight her for harbouring feelings for a working class politician.

But in the end she decided not to...

After all, Sybil didn't even know herself where she stood with Tom, let alone if they would ever see one another again after the misunderstanding and disagreement that had transpired between them.

Sybil wondered silently if she was in love with him.

She wondered if the purring warmth and the feeling of comfort and tenderness in her chest meant that she had given her heart away to Tom. She wondered if the spark that she felt burning beneath her skin when his fingers touched hers was there to tell her that she had fallen in love with him.

But unfortunately, like it was with so many other things; she couldn't be sure of any of it.

"I don't know, Mama", Sybil replied finally, finding that her response was the only honest answer that she could give both to her mother and to herself at this time. "I just don't know."

* * *

_..._

_Branksom House_

_The London Residence of The Napier Family._

_St James Square_

_..._

The left side of his faint red lip tugged upwards, creating a sinister smile on his godlike face that cast a spell of lust on anyone who dared look his way.

Mid-turn, the dark eyes of Lady Mary Crawley briefly fluttered shut as she revelled in her surroundings, drinking in the intoxicating sensation of his hand upon her waist and how it set tiny sparks skittering across her skin.

Her body and mind seemed to want him, seemed to have chosen him as a good distraction to the conflict that was raging so vehemently inside her brain.

Despite this however, her heart was set rather traitorously and decidedly upon another...another that Mary knew she couldn't have.

So instead she focused on the man standing before her, she focused on the womanising Mr Pamuk and how being in his arms made her feel. Mary focused on her own desire and how it's burning intensity succeeded in drowning out the other conflicts in her life...particularly in relation to a certain scholarly heir of her father.

Pamuk glanced down at her with fire dancing in his eyes—burning like the innermost circle of Dante's inferno. It felt like oxygen and fuel to the glowing embers in her belly.

His eyes made her forget the world around her.

Mary knew that a lady of her good family and gentle breeding shouldn't be feeling the burning physical desire that she currently was but, somehow, she couldn't help the accelerated beating of her own heart...that one cumbersome and traitorous organ that bounded so defiantly against the thick and rigid material of her corset.

It didn't do so out of love though...what she felt for Kemal Pamuk was nothing short of pure and unadulterated lust, Mary was more than clever enough to tell the two apart.

Lust was a thin and shallow replica of love, based only on desire and conquest...but desire and conquest was enough for tonight.

Even with her eyes shut, Mary could feel his scorching gaze upon her, smell the exotic and alluring scent of whatever he had bathed in before the ball. It was alluring in a way few other things were, it made her body tingle pleasantly.

Being under Pamuk's gaze felt burning and addictive. To Mary it reminded her of sitting out underneath the burning sun on the hottest day of the year. She knew the exposure may ruin her complexion but she couldn't dare to drag herself away.

Mr Pamuk was a hurricane to be swept away in.

In that one confused moment, it seemed as though he was exactly what she needed...a wonderful and beautiful distraction from the life she could have had if she was only just a little bit braver send less dependant on the comforts and luxuries brought so readily to her by her title.

The young and enigmatic Turkish diplomat was proving to be a tempting distraction that gently nudged her mutinous thoughts away from her father's heir blonde haired and blue eyed heir.

If only momentarily...

Oh Goodness...how she wanted to forget her feelings for Matthew, forget his earnestness and his honesty. Above all else, she wanted to forget the softness that he so readily evoked in her cold-hearted self without ever really trying.

Rather determinedly, Mary tried to regain composure and control over herself. With an air of offhanded standoffishness, the eldest Crawley sister steeled her resolve, forcing herself not to imagine what Matthew's hands would feel like upon her waist in the place of Kemal Pamuk's

Absentmindedly, she blocked out the sights and sounds of the ballroom around them, around her and Kemal Pamuk.

She ignored the masses of people swaying to their left and right. Relatives, friends, acquaintances and strangers; they were all carelessly dancing the two fifth, completely oblivious to the storm that raged inside her.

Mary tried not to imagine the expression on his face; that one face that so devotedly sought out her's in the crowd. She had seen him earlier from across the room only moments before Kemal had asked her to dance.

Her Perseus.

Standing off to the side, chatting casually with some man Mary did not recognise, was her cousin—that same blonde haired and blued eyes individual who had been at the centre of her thoughts and rooted within her heart for far longer than Mary would ever admit.

Matthew.

His gaze wasn't scorching like Pamuk's, the difference was something she knew that better than almost anything.

The unwavering gaze of Matthew Crawley was comforting and familiar, rather like pleasantly drifting into a warm bath after a day's hunting—only it proved soothing to her aching heart as opposed to her aching muscles. His eyes didn't stare hungrily into hers like she was a meal to be ravaged, they were quietly piercing, imploring and questioning.

'Mary, what are you doing?', they seemed to ask.

She wasn't sure of the answer herself.

All that Mary knew was one simple fact; she couldn't live without Matthew...but she also couldn't live with him.

So in the meantime, the Evelyn Napiers and Kemal Pamuks of the world would just have to suffice in distracting her and quelling her true feelings for the man whom she really wanted.

And no one would ever have to know...

* * *

Usually Sybil Crawley prided herself on her tolerance. Eighteen years of playing the trusted referee between her two bickering older sisters had surely succeeded in teaching her that much.

However, despite her usually unwavering patience, Sybil was almost certain that if Larry made one more ill-timed comment about how poor people deserved to remain in poverty her drink may very well end up on his face.

She hid a smile at the idea of having such an unladylike outburst and instead tried desperately to tune out Larry Grey's obnoxious attempts at conversation.

The youngest Crawley sister sighed discreetly into her glass of champagne, finding herself increasingly unwilling to maintain the facade of politeness that she upheld for the sake of both her family and Larry's.

Covertly, she tried to glance over the aforementioned man's shoulder for someone else—anyone else—to talk to, but no such luck was to be had.

Edith was deep in friendly conversation with Sir Anthony Strallan and a number of his compatriots, clearly more delighted by the attentions of the former rather than the latter. Meanwhile Mary was situated, equally as happily it would seem, upon the dance floor with a Turkish friend of Evelyn Napier's.

The centre of the dance floor had been a place that the eldest Crawley had been no stranger to all evening and Sybil couldn't help but laugh at her eldest sister as she so effortlessly dazzled the room, no one seeming more dazzled than their poor cousin Matthew who's eyes had scarcely left Mary all evening .

Sybil glanced over in the direction of her cousin, prepared to feel all the sympathy and compassion in the world for him but immediately her attention was stolen by the presence of another man altogether.

Tom Branson...her Tom Branson.

Sybil's eyes widened as her gaze fell upon the very man whom she had been secretly hoping to see all evening, ever since the moment in the carriage when Mary had first informed her that several members of parliament would be in attendance at the ball.

She felt herself flush warmly at the sight of Tom Branson, remembering how they had parted. Her heavy silk ball gown suddenly felt quite a great deal hotter and more confining than it had been all evening.

Ignoring Larry Grey, she found herself happy to watch him.

No one feature of Tom's made him—in Sybil's opinion-so handsome...though his eyes came rather close. She had often heard people speak of the colour of eyes, as if that were of importance, yet she couldn't help but think that Tom's would be beautiful in any shade.

From their depths came an intensity, an honesty and an inherent gentleness that was all Tom.

'Perhaps', Sybil thought, 'that was what was meant by a true gentleman, not one of weakness or trite politeness, but one of great spirit and noble ways'.

What Tom was, what was beautiful about him, came from deep within; it made Sybil want to feel how his lips move against her own in a kiss or how his hands would follow the curves of her body.

Sybil blushed, looking down at the train of her evening gown, unprepared to look Tom in the eye.

There was something about him that lit her up from the inside. Her heart bounded in her chest, a peculiar reaction that only Tom seemed capable of inspiring in her, making her feel alive in a way she had rarely ever experienced before meeting him.

Was that love?...Again, Sybil couldn't be sure.

She knew that she liked him...that she liked him quite a lot.

Tom was handsome from his cheeky smile to the gentle expressions of his voice. He was ridiculously attractive to her from his stimulating opinions to the touch of his hand upon her own. Sybil loved the way his voice quickened when he his mind sparkled with a new idea, or in the moments when he was so enjoying one of hers that he lost himself for a moment and quite forgot the mask he wore for others.

In that moment, Sybil felt as though she had the strength and conviction to give Tom her heart and to kept his safe in return.

She watched smilingly as he chatted with Matthew, her conversation with Larry Grey long since having become one sided. Of all her family, she had always marked Matthew to be the one with whom Tom would most easily get along with.

Especially seeing as how their intelligence, good heartedness and middle class upbringings were not altogether too dissimilar from one another.

After some time, Sybil opted to risk the chance of being spotted by her parents and sisters. She decided that she would join Tom at the other side of the ballroom once his conversation with Matthew had run its course.

After all, she and Tom had quite a lot to talk about...or at least, she hoped they still had.

Sybil watched them until Matthew said his goodbyes and slipped back into the crowd, moving in the direction of a slender red haired woman whom she vaguely remembered being introduced as Lavinia Swire, the daughter of one of Matthew's law professors at Oxford.

Tom was left on his own, glancing around—as Sybil could only imagine—for some of his fellow members of the IPP, all of whom seemed to have, with the help of a few stiff drinks, integrated somewhat better into the party than Tom.

She found herself rather endeared by the uncertainty and awkwardness in his usually so determined expression.

Sybil glanced back up at Larry Grey, wondering how best to make her excuses to him...not that she was particularly concerned with his feelings but rather she did not wish to be too rude to him on account of the affable nature of his father, Richard Grey who was Mary's godfather.

"Would it be terrible if I asked you to excuse me for a moment, Larry?"

Before he could give much of an answer, Sybil made her escape. She waited for the crowd to somewhat swallow her up before she made her way across the room to Tom, checking to make sure that her family were all engaged in some manner and that she had put a reasonable distance between herself and the prying eyes of Larry Grey.

Smilingly, she watched as Tom tugged on the cuffs of his morning coat in a manner that had her repressing a giggle at his apparent annoyance at the garment.

While she had always been rather fond of him in the more casual and slightly scruffy suits that he usually wore, from the small distance that still remained between them Sybil found herself appreciating—not for the first time—how handsome a man he truly was.

"You've tidied up well, Tom", Sybil said, the words finding their way out of her mouth before her mind could come up with something even a little more eloquent to say in greeting. "You look very handsome."

Suddenly, now that they were standing face to face and there was no where else to go, Sybil found herself reminded of all the reasons she had been worried about their meeting one another again.

She blushed furiously at the forthrightness of her previous statement.

Seeming more than a little surprised, Tom finally smiled at her, an action that eased the knot of apprehension in her stomach and made her grin in return.

She felt his eyes linger somewhat shyly over her form, a small action that made her so immeasurably happier than the attention Larry Grey had shown to her.

"Darlin', if you think I'm handsome then you must be a vision."

Sybil smiled bashfully and found herself discreetly reaching for his hand.

The pleasant sensation of their fingers intertwined felt every bit as natural as it had ever been and both she and Tom let out a sigh of relief. There were clearly no longer any ill feelings between them. Absence had, indeed, made their hearts grow even fonder.

However, that didn't mean that they still hadn't quite a lot to discuss.

Glancing around once again to locate her family, Sybil ensured that they were out of earshot and otherwise engaged in conversations of their own.

Once she was certain that their actions were not being noticed by her mother or father, she gently tugged Tom in the direction of the ballroom door in an effort to find some measure of privacy—no matter how improper it may seem to anyone else who may spot them leaving. Among the nameless and faceless titled individuals present, Sybil didn't really care too much about exciting a few smiles and comments...not anyway, when it meant she would have a few precious moments alone with her favourite Irishman.

"Are you sure we won't get lost in a house this size, Love?", Tom asked with an affectionate smirk , more than happy to follow her away from the crowds of aristocrats...more than happy to follow her anywhere if he was being quite honest.

"Oh Tom", Sybil replied teasingly, feeling suddenly rather bold and playful in her actions. "I have a feeling that you wouldn't mind getting lost with me."

_..._

_Don't tell me this is all for nothing_

_I can only tell you one thing_

_On the nights you feel outnumbered_

_Baby, I'll be out there somewhere_

_I see everything you can be_

_I see the beauty that you can't see_

_On the nights you feel outnumbered_

_Baby, I'll be out there somewhere_

_~I'll Be Out There Somewhere, Dermot Kennedy_

_..._

* * *

**I don't think I have mentioned anything historical here so I don't think a note is necessary. I hope you are all still enjoying this story, sorry for the late update. Life has been hectic recently! But in consolation, this chapter is twice as long as it's predecessor :) **

**Anyways, I would be thrille if you were to let me know what you thought. Let me knlw if you are enjoying this story so far or if you have any predictions and requests for later chapters. I would absolutely love to hear from you. **

**Thank you sooo much to everyone who has reviewed so far, it literally makes my day. **

**Hope you all have a great week! **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

...

_The Gardens of Branksom House _

_St. James's Square_

_London_

_1886_

_..._

Tom could feel his heart race as he let himself be led by the hand into the cool summer night. The music faded as their distance from the house grew, replaced only with the sounds of their mingled breathing and footsteps.

Despite the foreignness of his extravagant surroundings and the tightness of his morning coat...with Sybil, Lady Sybil, Tom Branson had felt better than he had in weeks.

He watched how a mischievous spark lit up her eyes as she shamelessly led him away from the party, the moonlight spilling out on to her hair and dress. Even though it made him feel more than a little corny, he couldn't help but recall some of the lines from Shakespeare that The Christian Brothers had once drummed into his head.

_It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she._

While a fifteen years old Tom had only scoffed and rolled his eyes at such words of tenderness, with Sybil such sentiments felt nothing but natural. In all honesty, he had never once believed that he could feel so enchanted by anyone...much less an English Lady.

But here he was...

They had gone several yards from the stately looking house when the reality of their situation once again begun to rear it's head in Tom's mind.

Having been surrounding all evening by people of his beloved's ilk, Tom found himself looking across at Sybil and seeing not only the free spirited woman whom he had fallen head over heels in love with, but the young aristocrat whom all of the other noblemen and noblewomen in the ballroom seemed to see her as.

He was a working class politician and she was an Earl's daughter, could they be any further apart? Would it even be right from him to declare his feelings for her when the world would be so fervently against them?

"Look at you...", Tom said, trying to keep his voice light-hearted and teasing as he finally brought up the elephant that had been in the room between them ever since Sybil had shared the truth of her background with him. "...a proper lady!"

At this Sybil raised her eyebrows questioningly, as though she were admonishing him for calling her such a thing. "Don't be silly! I'm the same person that you've known all summer", she said, squeezing his fingers. "The only difference is I'm wearing a nicer dress."

She glanced briefly back towards at the house, as though to be sure no one was watching at the windows before tugging him gently by the hand across the rest of courtyard and into the gardens, evidently heading towards the opening to a small but dense hedge maze.

Tom followed her, curious to see where Sybil was so purposefully taking them. The more cynical part of him, the part that was trying to prepare his heart for hurt, wondered if she may be taking them to such a private setting to avoid public embarrassment when she renounced their growing attachment.

Was he a love-struck fool? Did she really care for him as he did for her?

However, the romantic him could see clearly the emotions that shone so brightly in her eyes, he recognised them in her because he felt the same ones welling up inside himself.

Excitement. Hope. Passion. Fear. Love.

He smiled affectionately and followed her, trying to put the racing doubts in his mind at ease.

"I missed you", Tom could hardly prevent himself from breathing out.

There it was, out in the open...and that wasn't even half of it...

A worried frown briefly crossed Sybil's face, her grip on his hand grew vice-like and her expression contemplative.

Tom knew that she was even more conscious then he was of the impropriety of such a declaration between two young people whose relationship may never be approved of by either of their families...but in that moment, he couldn't help it.

After a few moments, Sybil's expression became increasingly decisive and she smiled confidently up at him in return. Her actions almost managed to reassure him that she truly didn't care what people would do if the pair of them were to be found out. "I missed you too."

Tom could feel a schoolboy grin makes it way on to his face upon hearing her words. He was delighted, elated and relieved. Sybil laughed aloud (a sound he had truly missed in their time apart). She tugged teasingly on the cuffs of his jacket, her eyes admiring him.

"You say that I'm all dressed up for the evening but look at yourself, Tom. The clothes doth oft proclaim the man!"

Tom glanced down at his own attire in mild distaste. He knew that it would be easier to laugh and go along with her jokes and keep the peace between after their last falling out, but that would not be true to their fiery and passionate spirits.

And besides, the idea of being in any way like the vast majority of men in The Napier's Ballroom made him feel quite uncomfortable, as though he had betrayed the very principles that he had always stood for.

Surely, Sybil could understand that.

"I'm no gentleman...", he said, unable to help but grumble decidedly under his breath. "...and I won't ever be."

It was a matter that he wished to be nothing but completely forthright with her about. Tom wanted to make sure Sybil knew that he could, and would, never be like the men her parents would have intended her to be with...not ever.

"For god's sake, Tom. I'm teasing you!", Sybil replied, frowning slightly. Her voice grew a little sharper and her cheeks reddened. "And besides I'm sure you could have easily fooled anyone in that room tonight. Look at you!"

At this, Tom's complexion only darkened further. Suddenly, he became very aware of how they had both been so adamant to keep their relationship a secret over the last few weeks.

Now though, he didn't care who knew that he loved Sybil. He would tell the whole world if he could. He would shout it from the rooftops...but why then was it so bloody hard to tell her?

Was it because Tom knew how easily Sybil could break his heart?

He saw the way she had looked over her shoulder all the time when they were together...was Sybil ashamed of him? Was she really so afraid of what her posh family would say if they knew how happy she was to spend her hours with a fella like him?

"Is that why we're hiding in the garden?", Tom responded sarcastically, bitterly... feeling positively terrified of her answer. "Is that why we're here whispering in the bushes, because of how well that I fit in?"

_..._

_The Ballroom of The Napier's London Residence _

_Branksom House. _

_St James Square _

_London _

_..._

Viscount Branksom sighed deeply over the rim of his whiskey glass, glancing sideways at his dear friend of over forty years. "I'm afraid tonight is mine and Evelyn's last in London for the season. We have a meeting tomorrow at noon with some of our tenants on the estate. Evelyn is very hands on about those sorts of things, you know? "

Robert Crawley frowned at the revelation. "Oh what a pity! I do hope nothing is the matter."

Viscount Branksom's eyes wandered vaguely to a pillared corner at the other side of the ballroom where his and Robert's eldest children stood talking with a friend of Evelyn, a Turkish fellow, as they had been for the better part of the evening.

He watched Mary and Evelyn, noticing the blatant lack of affection between them. It was fairly obvious to all with eyes that there was to be no engagement to be celebrated in either the Crawley or Napier household anytime soon. "Oh I don't think it so much of a pity. It seems Evelyn and Mary were not meant to unite our families."

Robert's eyes followed the path of his friend's. He sighed, understanding perfectly the other man's meaning. "I'm afraid that you're probably right", he replied, taking a mouthful of his own drink, a great deal deeper than it's predecessor.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing me a favour, Robert?", Viscount Branksom said after a few moments apparently spent deep in thought.

Curiously, Robert turned away from his eldest daughter and her companions, returning his attention to the other man. "Well, of course", he responded dutifully. "Anything for an old friend."

"Would you mind very much if Kemal Pamuk were to stay on with you at Grantham House. He seems rather interested in experiencing the rest of the season and given that we are returning north tomorrow, I would rather close up Branksom House before the summer is out. "

Robert, having half expected a task that was a lot more taxing, smiled reassuringly and patted Viscount Branksom on the back. It was the least he could do for an old friend that he had once hoped would one day be a father in law to his eldest daughter.

"Consider it done."

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you are all good. I'm so sorry for the late update. Life has been absolutely crazy recently! I really really hope you enjoyed this chapter and would absolutely love to hear from you all. It would honestly make my day and it is such a great motivation for my muse haha! **

**Thanks, as always for reading!**

**BTW: in case anyone was wondering, Tom is quoting Romeo and Juliet in this chapter and Sybil was quoting Hamlet. Because who doesn't like a little Shakespeare?**

**Oh and a short note about The Christian Brothers Secondary School that I mentioned : **

The **O'Connell School** is a secondary and a primary school for boys located on North Richmond Street in Dublin, Ireland. The school, named in honour of the leader of Catholic Emancipation, Daniel O'Connell, has the distinction of being t**he oldest surviving ****Christian Brothers**** school in Dublin**, having been first established in 1829. It is now under the trusteeship of the Edmund Rice Schools Trust. The school was for many years dubbed the "**working man's ****Belvedere College****"** (in reference to the nearby fee-paying school of that name, and due to its good reputation). James Joyce transferred from O'Connell School to Belvedere after being offered a place there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

...

The Gardens of Branksom House

St James Square

London

...

_He saw the way she had been constantly looking over her shoulder all the time when they were together. _

_Was Sybil ashamed of him? Was she really so afraid of what her posh family would say if they knew how happy she was to spend her hours with a fella like him? _

_"Is that why we're hiding in the garden?", Tom responded sarcastically, bitterly...feeling positively terrified of her answer. "Are we out here sneaking a few words to each other behind the bushes because of how well that I fit in?"_

_XXXXXXXXXXXX _

The cool night air felt difficult to breathe in. All she could inhale was the scent of him.

Tom was close to her...closer than she would have liked under the circumstances, but somehow still not close enough.

She could feel the heat radiating from his body and the warmth of his breath upon her face. It made her skin tingle with anticipation, a rather frustrating paradox of feelings when paired her feeling of frustration and betrayal at his uncharacteristically hurtful accusation.

Damn him!

Sybil was angry, and more disappointed in Tom than she could put into words. Surely after weeks of comradery and friendship, he thought better of her than to suggest that she held him in such a low regard as to be ashamed of him...of them.

The young aristocrat sighed deeply, recalling how she had been so compelled to walk away from Tom on the day of their first serious disagreement. This time however, despite her lingering confusion on the exact nature of her feelings for Tom, Sybil firmly resolved not to go anywhere.

"For goodness sake, Tom! How could you think me so weak as to reject you in front of my family and peers? I don't care about class, I care about people...and you Tom Branson are a good person." Sybil smirked as the next words left her mouth. "Even if you can be a self righteous prat sometimes."

Almost feverishly, Tom's eyes seemed to search hers. Sybil felt her own cheek flush darkly beneath the intensity of Tom's gaze until he turned away sheepishly, running a ragged hand through his hair. "For feck's sake, Sybil. I didn't mean it like that."

Determined for some kind of resolution, Sybil looked up at him expectantly. Face to face with Tom, she found herself trying to understand his point of view. She took a deep breath, steading herself. Sybil looked up at Tom, desperately seeking some form of reassurance...reassurance that maybe he would fight for them as fiercely as she would, just so long as they could both commit to keeping an open mind about one another's realities and not just their shared dreams for a better world. "Then how did you mean it?"

Tom looked at her thoughtfully, his voice regaining a sense calmness and certainty that Sybil almost envied. His knuckles brushed lightly against hers in a manner that sent the most irrational of her emotions into a spin "I don't think you see how you've changed things for me, darlin'. You've turned my world upside down."

Sybil frowned. "That almost sounds like a bad thing."

Tom glanced away from her towards The Napier's House. The music from the party was still loud enough to reach their ears...a constant reminder of the social barriers that divided them.

"Ireland is a very different country, love. Dublin has the worst slums in Europe, or so they say. There's parts of Mayo and Clare where it wouldn't be uncommon to see children lying dead at the side of the road because their families were evicted from their farms by the local landlord."

Sybil looks at him totally horrified at the idea but despite herself, feels a prickle of defensiveness in the pit of her stomach. "I can see why you think the way you do, Tom. Truly. But my father...he isn't like that. He's a considerate landlord to the tenants at Downton and a good man."

Tom smiles sadly, humourlessly. "A man who had any part at all in raising you would have to be."

Sybil frowned, despite the warm sentiment of Tom's words she could feel him distancing himself from her with niceties. "Then why do I feel like I'm being pushed away?"

Guiltily, Tom's eyes drifted momentarily from hers. "I thought I knew what I would be getting myself into but it's just...its one thing to hear you tell me that you come from all of...this...", he said heavily, gesturing vaguely to the large town house and grounds. "...but it's another to see it with my own eyes."

"And what do you see, Tom?"

"A young woman, beautiful inside and out, surrounded by her people...people who live in a world very different to the one I grew up in", at this he chuckled humourlessly, almost to himself.

Sybil could nearly feel the pain in his voice. She bit her lip, preparing herself, as the next words left Tom's mouth.

"It's like a bad joke, darlin'; a Dublin Jackeen in love with an English Lady. "

Hearing this, Sybil felt her heart contract painfully, aching dully as it pounded—thumping furiously against her ribcage...it was a pain that told her she was alive. She longed to reach out to Tom, to wrap her arms around him and to feel his lips brush against hers.

But not yet...she needed to know for certain.

"Tom?", she whispered questioningly—warningly.

In truth, she didn't trust herself to say anything more for fear it would break the perfect bubble that their relationship had existed in since that first day at the women's rally.

Their relationship?

Again, Sybil found herself wondering if she loved Tom.

She wondered if her heart aching at the thought of the two of them being parted from one another meant that she reciprocated the feelings that he had only seconds ago declared, wholly and unconditionally.

Sybil knew what could only come next, she could see the still unspoken question shining in the unshed tears of emotion in Tom's eyes.

"Oh my darlin', I've told myself and told myself that you're too far above me. I know that things are changing and I doubt they'll change fast enough for us. But still...I'd never forgive myself if I didn't ask you..."

Cutting him off mid sentence, Sybil placed an urgent finger over Tom's lips. "Please don't", she pleaded, surprising herself almost as much as him with the unexpected nature her outburst.

She thought of her family and of the polite but firm rejection that they would expect her to give to such a proposal. For a moment, Sybil considered telling Tom that she was flattered but that she could never accept such an offer of marriage. For the sake of her parents and the reputations of her two still unmarried sisters, she would have to refuse him.

However, looking up at Tom as she now was, another answer entirely came to Sybil's mind instead; a mad one, an illogical one...but perhaps a wonderful one.

"I need more time, Tom!"

"More time?", he asked in disbelief, apparently having expected the outright rejection that Sybil had already half rehearsed inside her own head. Looking down at her in pure and unadulterated wonder, Tom's eyes shined with something powerful, something that she had never seen in them before-it looked like hope. "Do you really mean it?"

Sybil nodded, feeling a matching grin tug at the corners of her cheeks. "Will you wait?", she asked, almost uncertainly.

For once, Tom was completely speechless. His eyes were filled with some enamouring and overwhelming emotion that Sybil could now put a name to. How could she have missed it before?...it was love.

"I'd wait forever."

At this, Sybil couldn't help but smile. She felt a wave of...something well up inside her chest at the earnestness of Tom's words...the words of a man who may very well one day be her husband. "I'm not asking for forever, just a few more weeks."

Tom smiled, an adorably goofy smile that managed to illicit Sybil's first honest and carefree laugh of the evening. "Mo ghrá...Is leatsa mé, idir chorp agus anam."

"What does that mean?"

Tom, chuckled teasingly, running a teasing finger across the apple of Sybil's cheek. Although evidently tempted, they wouldn't kiss yet. There was plenty of time for such things later when their affairs were more settled. "All in due time, love."

...

**A/N: Happy (slightly late) Christmas to everyone reading this story! I really hope you all had a great holiday. I'm so sorry my updates on all me stories have become so infrequent but I'm very busy at the moment with work and school. I hope you understand! **

**Anyways, thanks so much again for reading and I hope you all have the happiest of new years! **

**Pearlydewdrop xx**

**...**

**Note on Irish Slang: Jackeen: **a slightly pejorative name for a person from Dublin. Commonly it is shortened simply to Jack, and Dubliners often refer to themselves as such. The opposite of a Jackeen is a Culchie.

James Joyce-Jackeen(as he was born in Dublin)  
Michael Collins-Culchie(was from co. Cork)

...

_**History Note: **_

**Rural Ireland: **In the Eighteenth Century, farming land in Ireland became more and more the property of English landlords. The bulk of these were absentee landlords who showed little if any compassion for the people who worked the land. Absentee landlords were responsible for much anger among the rural population of Ireland. They crammed as many families onto their land as they could. No family who worked the land could produce enough to feed their children. Landlords enforced their authority via the police or army who could be called in to evict families if the landlord requested such help. Even in the Nineteenth Century, many of the poor in Ireland had no rights, the power rested solely in the hands of the landlords and those who upheld law and order were frequently in league with landlords. The extent of poverty and the issues surrounding it were well known in the British establishment. Even a stalwart Tory like the Duke of Wellington commented that: "There never was a country in which poverty existed to the extent that it exists in Ireland."

**Dublin**: The Act of Union of 1801, which abolished the Irish Parliament in Dublin in favour of direct rule from London, marked the decline of Dublin's fashionable status. It prompted a mass exodus of wealthy citizens, back to England. Under the pressure of poverty throughout the city, the area went downhill fast. The fine houses gradually turned into slums as many of the wealthy left their houses to be run by agents, who promptly became profiteering landlords and converted the once large rooms of the houses into many small rooms where they packed in as many poor families as they could. Many of these families had arrived in the North Inner City Area seeking refuge from the Great Hunger (1845-49) which devastated parts of rural Ireland. Totally impoverished, many of the destitute were forced into begging or stealing in order to survive. Due to atrocious living conditions and sanitation, disease was rampant and infant mortality rates soared. Some women resorted to prostitution to feed their children and to pay the high rents. The alternative was to risk ending up in the workhouse of the South Dublin Union on James's Street, a place which struck fear into the hearts of Dubliners. Such conditions lasted for decades and Dublin was almost as poor in the run up to the first world war as it had been in the years following the great famine. Things didn't change properly until the 1920s.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

.._.._

_Grantham House _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

Large and ornate flower arrangements of carnations and roses festooned the centre of the Crawley's dining room table at Grantham House, bathed in candlelight and firelight.

Having long since tuned out the ongoing conversation between her mother and Edith, Sybil's eyes wandered over the faces of each of her family members in turn, lips pursed and brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Silently, she couldn't help but imagine how each of them would react to the news that she was becoming increasingly prepared to impart onto them in the near future.

Easily, she could picture her father's anger and wounded pride, her grandmother's shock and disapproval and her mother's grave disappointment.

It pained Sybil to acknowledge the fact that her family would likely abhor the mere prospect of welcoming Tom as her husband. Despite this however, she knew her own determination would not waver in the face of her family's objection.

In spite of everything, in her heart Sybil had already made her decision and every time she would choose Tom Branson...her Tom.

With a faint smile playing about her lips, she thought of her response when the aforementioned Irishman first promised to wait for her, to wait forever if he had to.

(There was no way Sybil would have him wait forever!)

Recalling his words, even days later, still caused a contagion of warmth to swell deep in the pit of her stomach. Becoming more light-hearted by the minute, Sybil thought of the surprise and happiness she had seen light up his eyes when she responded to his question with her heart instead of her head, a perfect contradiction to the answer that both of them would have once expected.

She bit her lip, preventing her discreet smile from growing any more noticeable.

'I_ need more time. Will you wait?'_

_'I'd wait forever.'_

_I'm not asking for forever, just a few more weeks.' _

Most of all Sybil mused over the quite decided shift that she had noticed in her and Tom's interactions since that night in the Napier's garden. She thought of how, in recent days, his hands sometimes strayed rather boldly away from just holding hers to touch her waist and lower back.

She thought of how she too had become bolder in her actions, having reached out and caressed Tom's cheek the previous day when he had suggested sneaking her out of Grantham House for a fun (but totally innocent, he had immediately assured her with a playful grin) evening out in London.

Sybil felt herself blush darkly at the recollection, wondering how anything to do with an evening spent alone with Tom could be considered entirely innocent.

It was a thought that made her stomach jolt a little (or perhaps more than just a little) with anticipation.

Even though she knew her behaviour to be discourteous. Sybil could scarcely stop herself from peering up at the large grandfather clock that her parents had been given as a wedding gift years previously.

With regret, she noted that it was still only a little after eight in the evening...far too early for her to slip away unnoticed.

Eyes leaving her parents and grandmother, Sybil turned her gaze to the end of the table—her eyes finding her eldest sister Mary, who seemed deep in conversation with an inappropriate suitor of her own.

Sybil watched curiously as her sister's cheeks darkened and the dark and handsome stranger beside her leaned in close to whisper something in the eldest Crawley sister's ear.

Mary smiled and giggled under the attention of Kemal Pamuk.

To the best of Sybil's knowledge, the young Turkish man was a friend of Evelyn Napier's. He had asked her father for permission to stay on with them at Grantham House when the Napiers were forced to return North on business. According to her father, the younger man had wanted to see the London season to its conclusion.

The full extent of the news had been relayed by Robert several mornings earlier at breakfast, much to the barely concealed delight of Mary, the intrigue of the family and the disappointment of their cousin Matthew.

Frowning to herself, Sybil wasn't entirely sure whether to be happy for her older sister or confused by the bizarre and unexpected nature of her behaviour.

For so long, Sybil had been certain that Mary had been simply withholding her feelings for Matthew, but now the latter was apparently cast out—seated between herself and Edith while Mary enjoyed the attentions of another .

Glancing over to the man on her own left, Sybil's eyes found the sullen face of her father's blonde haired heir. She sighed sympathetically, following his saddened gaze back to Mary and Pamuk.

Sybil half wished that she could assure Matthew of Mary's feelings but knew that in doing so she would be betraying her sister's confidence...something she would never do, even for her favourite cousin.

"How have you found your first London season, Matthew?", Sybil asked, grasping at straws in order to direct away her cousin's attention from her sister's smiles, smiles that were—much to the whole family's chagrin-not directed at him.

Matthew turned to face Sybil, eyes averted somewhat bashfully. It was evident to both of them that the youngest Crawley had noticed how her cousin's gaze had been consistently drawn back to Mary and her companion all evening long.

With a smile that did not quite reach his eye, Matthew responded to the question with a voice full of false mirth.

"Never mind about me, Sybil", he said dismissively, a touch of uncharacteristic sarcasm entering his voice.. "I'm always the very spirit of joy."

Sybil frowned a little, again finding herself struck with the urge to offer Matthew some verbal reassurance that Mary did-in fact- truly like him, but resolved not meddle in such sensitive and fragile matters...that was her grandmother's forte, not hers.

"Things will come right, Matthew", patting him on the arm, offering him the comfort of a friend and little sister. "I'm sure of it."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

To say Mary was enjoying herself was an understatement.

She liked how Kemal Pamuk's eyes flashed darkly beneath thick brunette lashes as he whispered suggestions of a total improper nature in her ear.

She liked how his hands, every so often, grasped at her knee through the thick silken fabric of her evening gown, causing her insides to curl up and purr even through her multiple layers.

As a distraction from her duties and pursuit of position, he was perfect.

More importantly than anything, Kemal Pamuk was not like Matthew...not in any way.

Matthew, the most true and perfect gentleman that had ever set foot in Downton, would never say or do the things Mary was sure her exotic and alluring Mr Pamuk would. It was part of the charm of the young Turkish diplomat, or so she tried desperately to assure herself...for he and her cousin were nothing alike.

With a man like Kemal Pamuk there was no danger of her falling, of her feeling anything more than she allowed herself to.

He had little but a wild streak, a large ego and a certain reckless abandon that she found wildly attractive...but nothing more.

For once, Mary believed herself on even footing.

He was a sinner, she saw it in his eyes, and that was all she wanted...or at least that was what Mary thought she wanted...

As Pamuk's lips met her ear lobe later in the evening as their party moved from the dining room to the drawing room, Mary felt her cheeks burn hotly.

She listened in disbelief to his proposition...it was certainly more than one step too far from her original intentions.

"You can still be a virgin for your wedding night."

* * *

**A Short Note on Victorian Sexuality: **

_Lately, evidence has shown that Victorian sex was not polarised between female distaste ('Lie back and think of England', as one mother is famously said to have counselled her anxious, newly married daughter) and extra-marital male indulgence. These stereotypes of high prudery were famously critiqued by Michel Foucault as the 'repressive hypothesis': the idea that the Victorians could not mention sex. Foucault pointed out that, far from being silenced, sex was spoken everywhere in the 19th century in a wide range of contexts including the law, medicine, religion, education. Much academic and popular work since has considered the many ways in which Victorians did experience and speak of desire._

_Instead many couples seem to have enjoyed mutual pleasure in what is now seen as a normal, modern manner. Certainly, the 1860s were briefly as 'permissive' as the same decade in the 20th century, while the 1890s saw an explosion of differing and conflicting positions that would later on characterise the era._

_That being said however, sex outside marriage was looked down upon by the Victorians, with one guide for young women of the era warning that "kissing, fondling and caressing between lovers should never be tolerated unless there is at least an engagement to justify it". _

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know, I'm sorry it's been a while but I do hope some of you are still enjoying this story. Let me know if you would rather me focus on this story or one of my others over the next few weeks.

Thank you all for your wonderful support so far. If you are enjoying the story so far (or even if you aren't), I would love to hear from you.

Pearlydewdrop xx


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

...

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

...

Rolling on to his back, Matthew stared a while at the ceiling. Trying to sleep, he had found, was rather futile. As he closed his eyes, they almost stung-open too long he supposed.

He had tried to fall in love again, he truly had.

After spending weeks in the company of many of the most charming women Matthew had met in his life, including the sweet and kind Lavinia Swire, he was still irrevocably hung up on his cousin. His heart bounded painfully in his chest at the thought of her...the only one he wanted, the one who most surely didn't seem to want him.

No matter how hard he tried, when Matthew closed his eyes Lady Mary Crawley was all he could see. Everyday he saw her, around the dinner table, in ballrooms or in her father's library, that was it; from that point on she was always on his mind. Her dark dancing eyes and tight lipped smile forever at the fridges of his thoughts.

There had been a time when Matthew had almost let himself believe that Mary felt the same way as he did, but not anymore. Most recently, she had seemed quite taken with some friend of Evelyn Napier's. He was a young Turkish diplomat by the name of Kemal Pamuk who, despite Matthew's attempts to see what Mary clearly saw in the man, gave him the most disconcerting of feelings.

Like poison, Matthew tried to swallow the jealousy that bubbled up in the pit of his stomach, it was a feeling he had sworn to himself that he would never own up to in spite of how his silence haunted him day and night.

Frustratedly, the heir to Downton Abbey threw aside his sheets and blankets stepping out on to the cool mahogany floor of his bedroom at Grantham House— desperately needing a drink.

Good God, he knew he needed one if he was ever to get to sleep tonight.

...

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

...

Sybil felt her cheeks warm, flushed from an evening of dancing and sore from laughing and smiling. She giggled happily, never having felt freer.

"The vote on Gladstone's Home Rule Bill is taking place next week", Tom told her happily, recounted the news he had heard quietly from 'The Boss' himself down at the pub. "Parnell seems to think we've got a good chance of changing things."

Sybil glanced up at him, knowing how much support for this bill meant to Tom and the other members of the IPP. "That's fantastic news, Tom!", she replied genuinely. She may not have been Irish(or in any way close), but she cared quite a great deal about one Irishman in particular. "Do you think I could come along and watch."

Tom tilted his head sideways, as always surprised by her. "I don't see why not, if you want to."

Grinning Sybil, nodded decidedly. "Of course I do, I want to be there for you."

Her shoulder and hand brushed comfortably against Tom's as they made their way back to Grantham Place side by side. They took their sweet time strolling towards St James Square—purposefully prolonging their journey and postponing their goodnights.

"You'll never guess what Seamus said?"

"Oh God, it could've been anything. I wouldn't put much heed to what he says, Love. Especially after he's had a few."

Smilingly mischievously, Sybil recalled the friendly warning of Tom's childhood best friend. She knew that he had meant it in jest and would recount it as such, but that didn't meant that Sybil wasn't just a little concerned that there was some merit to his joking and teasing.

"He said to watch out for your mother. Apparently she tends to tear stripes of anyone who would dare hurt her little boy."

At this Tom reddened up to his ears, looking far more like a schoolboy than the twenty four year old man he was. Naturally, Seamus—and several others—had decided to recount to Sybil some of the more humiliating stories of his youth and his being a complete mammy's boy had become a particular topic for mortification.

Tom laughed slightly, shaking his head at the thought of his Mam back in Ireland. "There's probably some truth to that, darlin'. But I already know that Ma will be absolutely mad about you."

Overtly serious now, Sybil turned to face Tom properly, her eyes shining in hope. "Do you really think so?", she asked earnestly, a slight crease flickering between her brows.

If she was being honest, the situation regarding Tom's family—as well as her own—had become quite the subject of her worries as of late. Sybil knew that her own parents (her father especially) would be reluctant to accept the idea of someone like Tom as their son in law. However, she had also had come to realise that she, herself, may not be The Branson's idea of a suitable choice in wife for Tom either, what with their Irish Nationalists leanings and all...

"Because I do want to get along with them, your family."

Even though it was dark out, his bright blue eyes shone at Sybil's words. Tom was looking down at her in that same affectionate, proud, delighted way that he had been all evening—whether he'd been eagerly teaching her the steps to the Siege of Ennis or watching her adamantly defend her differing opinions amongst his equally political and hot headed friends.

This time however, it was his expression in the pub times ten.

"They'll love you, Sybil. They'd be fools not to."

Relaxing slightly, Sybil edged closer to him (to hell with propriety!). She couldn't decide whether her boldness was a product of the glass of Guinness she'd consumed earlier or just a more overwhelming than usual desire to be nearer to the man she...loved.

Her insides curled up in satisfaction at the admission, even if it was one she had not yet given voice to...she loved Tom...was in love with Tom. Goodness, how badly she wanted to tell him so.

It wasn't an admission that dramatically dropped out of the sky and into her heart like the hopeless romantic in Sybil always thought it would. It wasn't some grand lightening bolt moment where she suddenly realised that Tom Branson was the love she had always imagined. There was nothing unexpected or untoward about the revelation, it had simply crept up on Sybil, little by little, and engulfed her heart. It was just there, as plain as day...as real as the man himself who stood before her...looking at her with such openness and love.

Beaming, Sybil didn't think twice before reaching out and looping her arms around Tom—her Tom. A little hesitant, but as sincere as ever, she felt as his hands snake around her waist in return—as warm and natural as she could ever have imagined them.

Tom smiled down at her, a single glance that had the strange but wonderful ability to light her right up from the inside out.

And she loved him!

She loved him!

With Tom's arms around her, the heaviness in Sybil's stomach (caused by the looming uncertainty of their future) eased and melted into the hopeful fluttering of butterfly wings. She sunk into the warmth of his side, holding Tom tighter—but appreciating how he didn't push her, how he had given her the opportunity to back away should she have wanted it.

(Sybil found immediately, and with a resounding intensity, that she didn't want any such thing...)

His Irish Sea blue eyes were candles in the night, their bright light a spark of passion that ignited a fire beneath her skin. Unconsciously, Sybil found her gaze flitting downwards towards Tom's lips and she watched, somewhat coyly, as they quirked into a soft smile and that made her own cheeks darkened bashfully.

Tom breathed out a shaky laugh, interlacing his fingers soothingly at her lower back. Sybil grinned at him a little nervously in return...neither of them quite sure what was to happen next.

Running her fingers, rather boldly, underneath the cuffs of his already rolled up sleeves, Sybil could feel the goosebumps that lined Tom's skin—not the kind one gets in the cold, but the kind that meant nothing else mattered except that moment.

Sybil bit her lip, watching as Tom's eyes darkened to the deepest of navy. She shivered slightly as his hands left her waist, slowly reaching upwards to cup her cheeks. The pull towards him was stronger then it had ever been before, positively magnetic.

Her heart caught in her throat mid beat.

"We can do this, can't we Tom?"

"Oh my darlin'", Tom whispered softly, his thumb skimming affectionately over the cartilage of her ear as he drank in the sight of her. His words were whispered like a prayer, so close now that Sybil could feel the warmth of his breath upon her face. "I believe in us."

At first, Sybil had wondered why she hadn't kissed him that night in the Napier's Garden when Tom had almost asked her to marry him...she had known then that she had wanted to, the thought had reoccurred to her quite often ever since.

But the reality behind her actions only truly struck her now, now Sybil knew that if Tom kissed her there would be no going back. She would be firmly and steadfastly in love with him; throwing caution entirely to the wind for the sake of what they both so desperately wanted...to be together.

Sybil knew that choices would have to be made, choices that would greatly disappointment many of the people she held most dearly to her heart. She thought of her Mama, her Papa, her sisters and her Granny and pushed aside all thoughts of their anger, disapproval and dismay. They would come around.

Sybil glanced up at her truest love and saw the sincerity that glistened in Tom's eyes—the honesty and determination that reassured her of just how much he wanted this—wanted them—every bit as much as she did.

She chooses him, chooses him with ever fibre of her being.

"Tom, will you kiss me?"

His eyes widened almost comically in disbelief, leaving Sybil stifling a giggle at his expression of amazement and joy. Tom looked positively shocked, and his eyes searched hers for even the slightest measure of uncertainty. "Are you sure?", he asked gently.

Nodding decidedly, Sybil already knew in her heart and soul she had made the right choice.

"Tom, kiss me and be my husband."

Tom smiled softly in return, chuckling as he shook his head. He should have known that his darling wonderful beautiful suffragist would skirt tradition and be the one to ask him for his hand instead of the other way around.

With a final shared smile, Tom dipped his head and his lips fell to hers. That was his answer.

"I do love you, mo ghrá gheal. So much. "

"And I love you."

...

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

...

Distractedly, Mary did her utmost to settle back into her pillows—squirming in a dually unladylike and uneasy fashion. She huffed out a sigh, toying with the ivory lace of her nightgown, and tried to reassure herself that her concerns were purely paranoid nonsense.

_''May I come to you tonight?'._

Mary shivered slightly, remembering the fateful words of Kemal Pamuk-words he had spoken to her earlier on in the evening. She remembered how his eyes glinted and how his lips tugged upwards into a smoulder at her refusal to respond to such a question.

Surely, he wouldn't have taken her silent response as consent to such scandalous plans, plans that could ruin her.

How foolish she felt! Already, Mary could feel guilt and shame pool in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want this, didn't want things between her and the young Turkish diplomat to go this far. Flirting with Pamuk over the family dining room table had been nice. She had felt more adult and sophisticated than she had in her life. However, Mary didn't want this...she didn't want him in her bed. Perhaps, she could turn him away.

Perhaps, he wouldn't even come.

Desperately, Mary tried to focus on the book on her lap—Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy—and berated herself for descending into such an unfounded frenzied state, one that she would have simply loathed anyone to see her in. Thankfully, Mary thought to herself, neither Sybil nor Edith had noticed anything amiss with her as Anna had helped the trio of sisters prepare for bed.

No one suspected anything, for now that would have to suffice.

Mary glanced upwards, as her door opened with an enthusiastic clatter—revealing the devilishly handsome and expectant face of Kemal Pamuk.

"Good evening, Mary", he whispered smilingly, adjusting the belt on his scarlet dressing gown.

Panic caught in her throat and suddenly Mary felt an overwhelming desire to run, to hide. Her fingers clutched at her bed covers, pulling them defensively up to her chest. Her brain synapses fired up like an internal aurora borealis.

What on earth was she going to do?

* * *

**Thank you all for all of your kindness so far! I've absolutely loved hearing from all of you and really hope you are still enjoying this story. I truly hope this new update finds you all safe and well in these weird times we're living in. **

**Sending my best, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

...

_Grantham House_

_St James's Square _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

...

Sybil breathed out a happy sigh, leaning heavily against the door that led into the servant's hall.

A giddy smile swept across her face, her fingers ghosting over her lips to where Tom's had been only moments before. She replayed the moments leading up to their goodnights on loop in her mind. Her head filled with thoughts of hot open mouthed kisses, enthusiastically pressed against necks and collarbones.

She shivered slightly, beaming.

"My fiancé", Sybil couldn't help but whisper to herself—a tingling mixture of anticipating, joy and amazement coursing through her as she stood by herself in the semi-darkness.

Despite the obstacles that Sybil knew they would face in the near future, for now she felt nothing but an impish sort of glee. All it took was for Sybil's thoughts to turn to him and her stomach fluttered in excitement...Tom Branson, her Tom Branson, whose kisses effortlessly brought her soul out to play. Without even trying, he made her feel all sorts of things that she'd scarcely thought possible before she had met him...pure earnest longing...and love, so much love.

"I have a fiancé", she said aloud once more, her lips curling upwards happily. This time her voice carried a little further, growing louder than even she knew was wise.

"Sybil is that you?", a voice called out.

Her breath hitched, and she dared not move a muscle.

The young aristocrat froze in alarm, hoping desperately that whoever it was would count her whispers as a figment of their imagination.

A pyjama clad figure approached her across the dim light of the servant's hall, his blonde hair and easy grin immediately unmistakable. In his hand was a candlestick. It cast a faint glow across the room, properly illuminating his face.

Matthew.

"Fancying seeing you down here", he greeted smilingly, his voice garnering a certain mirthful quality that told Sybil he had undoubtedly heard every word she had just said.

His grin widened considerably under her obvious discomfort. Her secret was out!

"Matthew, what on earth are you doing down here?", Sybil asked quite awkwardly in an attempt to divert his attention.

He waved his hand in response , a flicker of pain momentarily crossing his face that both he and Sybil knew lead back to Mary. He hastily covered it up, changing the subject.

"Never you mind about that. But what's this business about being engaged?", he asked, teasingly...sounding almost as though he were trying to distract himself. "I do hope cousin Robert has heard something of it."

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, Matthew with his eyebrows raised questioningly—but not judgementally—and Sybil with her cheeks a little flushed. His statement had been rather rhetorical for both of them, it didn't take a genius to know that Robert Crawley hadn't the slightest idea about his youngest daughter having a secret beau.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Matthew smirked affectionately, evidently endeared by his younger cousin's antics. The thought of her blossoming love life seemed to divert his attention away from his own rather...complicated one.

"Come, Sybil", he said genuinely. "You know, I only wish to see you happy."

Getting no verbal response from his now rather bashful looking cousin, a joking tone crept into Matthew's voice as he persisted. "How will I know whether this chap of yours is up to the job if you insist on telling me nothing?"

At this Sybil laughed outrightly, shaking her head. Despite the conflict and mixed feelings that his arrival at Downton had initially brought about amongst her immediate family, she had come to see Matthew as an older brother and she knew he saw her as a sister.

"He's not quite what you'd expect."

"So what if he's not the young Lord or Baron that your parents would have wanted for you", Matthew responded encouragingly. "I wonder if he's a fellow solicitor? Your grandmother would love that!"

Sybil smiled gratefully at Matthew, touched by his immediate openness and acceptance at the idea of her marrying a more middle class man.

Although he would tease her mercilessly, Sybil knew that Matthew would be supportive. Even before that night, she had been certain that her cousin was the one person in her family who would not dismiss her feelings for Tom as a youthful folly. Of all people, he would understand that two people of different backgrounds could come to love one another.

After all; Matthew did, quite obviously love Mary, anybody could see that, and her upbringing at Downton Abbey had be very different from his in Manchester as the son of a doctor.

"No, he's not, but I do think he would appreciate being likened to a solicitor much more than he would a baron."

"Well, now I like him already."

"That's just the thing, Matthew. You two have already met."

"I've met him! Good Lord Sybil, who is he?"

Sybil looked at him seriously. "If I tell you Matthew, you must promise not to tell a soul."

His brow furrowed in concern, Matthew's expression grew a little uneasy at her words. Unsurprisingly, he was reluctant to comply with such a request.

"Sybil, what are you up to?", he asked suspiciously. The last thing he wanted was for his younger cousin to get herself into any kind of trouble.

Sybil shook her head adamantly, determined not to say a word until he had promised not to give her and Tom away—not until they were ready. "Nothing bad, I promise. I'm just not quite sure the others would approve just yet?"

"And would they approve if given time?", he responded carefully.

"I would like to think so, yes."

Matthew considered her words for a moment, nodding his agreement after some time. While he knew Sybil was young and a little more rebellious than her father and grandmother would like, he also believed his cousin to be quite sensible. He knew her well enough to trust in her judgment. "Alright, you have my word."

"Do you recall Tom Branson from the Napier's Ball?"

Matthew blinked. "Really, Sybil? Him!"

His voice wasn't accusatory, just curious. Sybil nodded, a small smile breaking out across her face once more. She bit her lip and a twinkle came in her eye, dissolving any possibility that arose in Matthew's mind that she was joking with him.

"How long has this been going on?"

"A little over two months", Sybil responded quite proudly. She thought of the first time she met Tom and how they had fumbled awkwardly around each other initially but quickly come to see how alike they truly were. "We met at a suffragist rally in Hyde Park."

Matthew chuckled good-naturedly, "Why am I not in the slightest bit surprised?", he replied, thinking of the kind but opinionated man he had met at the Napier's alongside his little cousin who was always more than ready to speak her mind regarding the merits of the women's movement. "So the first Crawley sister up the aisle is to be the youngest."

Sybil ducked her head slightly at his words, not having thought of that before. She hoped that Mary and Edith wouldn't take it all badly—Sybil would hate to risk her sisters' approval and affection.

"Unless you and Mary make it official", she replied, a certain amount of devilment lacing her voice. "Then I wouldn't be."

Matthew sighed deeply, "You're sweet Sybil, but I do think that ship has sailed long ago."

"Oh I wouldn't give up all hope if I were you."

"You wouldn't?"

"Of course not! You and Mary are meant to be together, anyone can see that!"

Just then the door that lead upstairs opened with a resounding creak, a sudden trail of frenzied footsteps echoing across the room making both Sybil and Matthew jolt from their conversation in alarm.

The sight that they were met with was an unexpected one.

Lady Mary Crawley; as white as a sheet, her tear stained face all red and blotchy like she had just been sobbing inconsolably.

Barefooted and dressed in a rumpled white nightgown, her gaze was urgent and distraught. Her mouth opened slightly, at a loss for words—shocked at the sight of the last two people in the world she would choose to see her like this...amidst the total and utter mess she had made.

She had been looking for Anna, but found them.

Matthew stared at her for a moment, mouth agape like a fish— unsure of what to say or do.

Sybil, on the other hand, had always been so sure of Mary's softer and more vulnerable interior. She stepped forward and enveloped her older sister in a hug, squeezing tightly.

"Mary, what on earth has happened?"

Struck by Sybil's immediate understanding, Mary started to sob uncontrollably into her younger sister's shoulder—hiding herself away from Matthew's now sympathetic gaze. "Sybil, I don't know what to do! We're ruined! I've ruined us!"

The two sisters clung to one another, the younger just about managing to keep the older upright.

Matthew stood by their side, rather awkwardly with his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. He ached to help Mary but didn't want to over step any line that she had already placed between them and have her scorn him later.

"Hush now, darling. I'm certain that's not the case. Just tell us what happened and we'll fix it..."

"Oh Sybil, this will never be fixed! I've been such a fool!"

* * *

**A/N: thank you so much for all of your support and kindness on the last chapter. It means so much to me that you like this story! For those of you who are Mary and Matthew shippers, even though Sybil and Tom are my OTP, there will definitely be much more material than usual for you guys in the next couple of chapters. **

**Stay safe, **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_..._

_Grantham House _

_St James's Square _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

Grantham House was silent—almost eerily so.

Three lone figures hurried their way out of the servant's quarters, dashing through the rather opulent hallway towards the entrance hall's grand looping stairwell.

For the first time in her life, Lady Mary Crawley felt as though the portraits of her long dead ancestors were glaring down at her in scrutiny, their eyes full of distaste and disapproval.

So used to feeling as though she were the perfect custodian of the Crawley's good name, the prospect of her family's ruin at her hand was a rather daunting one.

'How much of Crawley history had this house seen?', Mary couldn't help but think, feeling increasingly ashamed both of herself and of her own foolishness. 'Had it ever seen such scandal?'

She paused, glancing shakily over her shoulder at the faces of Sybil and Matthew.

Mary felt their eyes bore into her back as unknowingly she led them towards him...towards the body of Kemal Pamuk, the man she had taken as her lover. Seeing their concern, the eldest Crawley sister couldn't help but wonder how much longer their expressions of empathy would last once Sybil and Matthew knew what she had done.

Her heart raced in her chest, tormented by thoughts of what would happen if her secret were to get out, if the world were to known of the utter chaos that her foolish desires had caused.

Feverishly, her mind returned to Kemal.

The image of him was burned into Mary's memory—lingering constantly at the fringes of every thought; Kemal Pamuk spread eagled on her bed, his golden legs akimbo and his glassy and vacant brown eyes—once positively brimming with lust and passion—now completely empty and staring lifelessly into space.

_'You're mad!', Mary had accused, attempting to turn him away._

_Kemal had only smiled rather wolfishly in response. 'I am in the very grip of madness.'_

Mary choked back a rather graceless sob, shaking away the tears that threatened to fall.

In the face of Sybil and Matthew's concern and curiosity, she held her head up—willing herself to regain her usual mask of the stoic aristocrat.

Aside from her father, Sybil and Matthew were two of the last people in the entire world whom Mary would choose to bear witness to her shame first-hand.

She tried not to imagine what Sybil would make of her dalliance, pushing aside the thought as soon as it entered her mind. Decisively, Mary forced herself not to focus on the weight of the favour that she would soon be asking of Sybil...her younger sister who was scarcely out in society, her same younger sister whom she was supposed to be role model to.

Mary comforted herself with the notion that should the pandemonium regarding Kemal Pamuk ever to come to light—Sybil would have almost as much to lose as her; respectability, position and the chance of making a suitable match...those three precious things that granted women their only power and stability in life. Mary was determined that neither she or Sybil should miss out.

Matthew, on the other hand, could walk away from the entire situation with his reputation completely clean and his respectability as unquestionable and irrefutable as ever. It was something Mary would have envied if she wasn't already in such a frenzied state of mind.

Briefly, she tried to imagine a version of Matthew who would leave them in the lurk, a version of him who would abandon both her and Sybil to deal with the whole nasty business alone...Mary couldn't.

As much as she may sometimes like to think otherwise, Matthew was far too honourable to do such a thing. _Damn him, a stalwart of moral integrity if there had ever been one!_

Almost too soon for Mary's liking, the trio came to a halt outside her bedroom door.

Nails digging nervously into her palms, the eldest Crawley sister found herself hesitating. She inhaled deeply—steeling herself for the inevitable moment when her relationships with both Sybil and Matthew may be changed forever.

"Mary, what the devil is going on?", Matthew asked in a rather loud whisper, a whisper that jolted Mary from continuing with her wandering train of thought. She turned to him, seeing the confusion and worry in his pale blue eyes.

His gaze was unmistakably filled with more raw earnestness than Mary could ever have prepared herself for, not in a million years.

'He really and truly cares', she couldn't help but think, it was a notion that made her heart clenched painfully—reminding her of the true stupidity of what her actions will undoubtedly have done, what taking Kemal Pamuk to her bed would undoubtedly have cost her.

Mary tried to forget the countless possibilities she had destroyed.

_'I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him',_ Mary thought bitterly to herself.

Biting her bottom lip, the truth began to tumble from her lips, for she couldn't lie to them-not to Sybil and Matthew, and most certainly not now.

"He's dead!", she said, stumbling over her words in a manner that sounded nothing like her usually cool and collected self. "Well, I think he's dead. No, I know for a fact he is!"

"Who's dead?", Sybil asked, her eyes wide.

Shaking her head furiously, Mary found herself, once again, trying to maintain her composure. She glanced away from both Matthew and Sybil, unable to look either of the in the eye as the next words fell from her lips. "Kemal Pamuk", she whispered in return, her voice trailing off as her vision blurred—eyes prickling with tears. "He died in my bed."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Matthew sighed deeply, leaning heavily against the bannisters.

As he looked out on to the deserted entrance hall, Matthew realised for the first time in his life he truly had absolutely no idea what to say or do with himself.

He hadn't known how to comfort Mary when she had cried out in grief and frustration, unable to properly close Mr Pamuk's eyes.

So instead of quietly leading her away as Sybil had, Matthew had escaped out into the hallway—determined that his part in this particular Greek tragedy had ended.

He was exhausted—truly, but his body was still pumping with adrenaline, his mind reeling at what he'd just done...what he'd just done for Mary.

Behind him, Matthew could hear a short whispered conversation being shared between the two sisters and had somehow managed to raise his hand in some vague gesture of farewell when Sybil quietly bid him goodnight.

He glanced over his shoulder at Mary's unmoving form, waiting for her to follow suit and silently leave alongside her younger sister.

She didn't.

"Matthew, I want to thank you for what you've done tonight", Mary said, her voice sounding rather stiff and formal—almost as though he hasn't just seen her lug a one hundred and ninety pound corpse through the corridors of Grantham House. She looked at him cooly, her once almost grey cheeks having regained some of their usual milky colour.

"I know there are very few who would have done what you did for me."

Nodding rather numbly, Matthew offered her a small smile in return. He tried to ignore the nervous jolt in his stomach whenever his mind began to return to what he had just seen...he thought of Kemal Pamuk and his limp and flailing body...

Mary had been worth it, of course she had.

More than anything, Matthew wanted to tell her that there was very little that he wouldn't do for her. He wanted to tell her that he would do anything if it meant bringing her peace and happiness.

It was clearer to him than all else; Matthew knew that helping Mary tonight hadn't been a choice for him, because seeing her suffer would only bring him more pain...irrespective of the fact that she didn't seem to feel for him in the same all consuming way he did for her.

And that was totally fine, it was just something Matthew had resolved himself to live with no matter how much it hurt.

A heavy silence fell between them, both yearning to say more but finding themselves completely unable to find the words. So much had happen in the past few months, things that had left Matthew confused and shaken and wondering whether he knew Mary at all-this was one of those things.

Matthew knew that a part of him should feel bitter or upset with her for having rejected him when his position in society had become unstable, but he couldn't find it within himself to do so. Matthew knew that Mary would never be happy if she wasn't living in some form of Downton Abbey. He knew that she would never be content living the life of a solictor's wife when she had grown up in an ivory tower, dressed in finery, attending balls and having her every whim attended to by an army of servants.

Mary was beauty, she was grace...and she most certainly wasn't destined to be with him-not when Cora and Robert may very well have a son and heir of their own in a few months time...it was something that Matthew had begun to accept.

Realising that no more was going to be said, Matthew reached forward and gently squeezed Mary's elbow in a friendly sort of manner. He tried to forget the dreams of happiness that he had once had for them. It was now time to wake up and move on with their lives.

"Good night, Mary."

...

_To all the stars that light the road_  
_Don't ever leave that girl so cold_  
_Never let me down, just lead me home_

_Don't tell me this is all for nothing_  
_I can only tell you one thing_  
_On the nights you feel outnumbered_  
_Baby, I'll be out there somewhere_

_~I'll Be Out There Somewhere, Dermot Kennedy _

_..._

* * *

**Hello Everyone, I truly hope that you are all keeping well. **

**I know this chapter had quite a bit more Mary and Matthew than usually, and honestly...I've never written for them before so I'd love to know how you think I did since Sybil and Tom have always been more up my ally. **

**I've recently started another Sybil and Tom multichapter called 'Standby', a rom-com modern AU set in Dublin. It's M-rated so I'm not sure if it's coming up on the most recently posted page of Downton stories, so if you would like to check it out I'd love to hear from you. I will leave a summary and link down below if any of you are interested. **

**Anyways, in the meantime I hope you are all keeping safe! **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **

* * *

_Standby summary..._

_It wasn't as though Tom had spent the last six years thinking about Sybil, he just hadn't really been able to forget her. She was the one who got away, the one Tom had thought he'd never see again. Then low and behold, she shows up in his mam's tourist office looking for a place to stay. Will the years have changed them, or are Sybil and Tom more compatible than ever? (Modern AU)_

_ s/13564622/1/Standby_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_..._

_Grantham House _

_St James's Square _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

Well practiced in the art of hiding her true feelings, Mary schooled her features. With her lips pursed, she headed towards the dining room for breakfast, decidedly ignoring how it was one of the last places in the world that she truly wanted to be.

Painting on a false and unsuspecting smile, Mary steeled herself for the outpouring astonishment that she could already feel sweeping its way through the house as the news of Mr Kemal Pamuk's untimely demise became common knowledge.

Only a few steps behind her, Sybil was hot on Mary's trail.

Hurrying to catch up, her fingers barely skimmed the cool timbre of the bannisters. Her eyes were full of concern and a fierce determination to be there for her sister despite Mary's apparent withdrawal from all sources of comfort and support.

While Sybil had offered to share her bedroom with Mary the night before, so as to prevent her returning to the place of Pamuk's death, her older sister had spent the rest of the night in a stubborn and tormented silence...retreating, as she so often did, inside herself.

And for those handful of silent hours in the early morning, Sybil had complied with Mary's wishes—both too restless and too haunted by the images of the deceased Kemal Pamuk to sleep a wink.

"Are you sure that you're alright?", she asked earnestly, her voice penetrating the heavy silence in the room.

Mary scoffed, trying to appear unruffled despite how she was more than aware that her observant little sister had noticed her eyes dart around, ensuring that they were alone before she could even bring herself to respond.

"I don't think I have quite recovered from hearing the words 'you grab his legs and Matthew and I will get his arms' come from your mouth, darling. But otherwise I'm tip top."

Her words were biting and laced with sarcasm.

Sybil sighed deeply—clearly torn between worry and frustration. She seized Mary's hand—drawing both of them to a sharp halt.

"Don't lie to me", she admonished.

Her wide eyed and unblinking expression almost reminded Mary of the days from their childhood when a six or seven year old Sybil would try and convince her of some far-fetched tale—the younger fully believing her own words, the older much too mature to comply with such childish foolery.

"I can't imagine what an ordeal last night must have been for you!"

Feeling momentarily as though Sybil was miles away, thoughts of Kemal Pamuk's final moments once again filled Mary's mind. She recalled the heat of his living flesh against her own and the dead weight of his body when he cried out and collapsed on top of her.

It was something she was certain that she would never be able to forget.

Mary thought of Matthew's sympathetic parting smiles and how the memory of them did nothing but toy with her cruelly. She didn't want his sympathy, nor did she want his pity! Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of Matthew, the blasted organ with it's irrational beating and girlish flutters betraying her as it always did when it came to her Perseus.

Her Perseus; the man a part of her would always want but would never have.

Especially not now.

"I thought you knew, Sybil", Mary returned curtly, ensuring that her voice did not betray her internal conflict. "...I don't have a heart."

"Oh come off it, we both know that isn't true. I'm terribly worried!"

"As you should be", Mary shot back immediately. "I may very well have ruined your reputation alongside my own. Few and far between are respectable men who would even look at a woman with a notorious sister..."

Sybil blinked, her frown only deepening at the harsh nature of her sister's words. "Well bully for that! If they should care about something so absurd, I should wish to have no business with them in the first place."

Mary arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "You consider my having taken a lover who died in my bed absurd?"

"Of course not!", Sybil responded, flushing scarlet at the accusation. "What's absurd is the idea that you should be ruined for it! Who was it that decided men should be encouraged to cavort about, behaving as they will, while women live in fear of being marked a social pariah for acting upon the very same carnal impulses that all human beings are privy to! What shallow and self righteous tyrant decided that a woman's worth should be placed solely on the state of her maidenhood! It's utterly bizarre! The world is ridiculous and absurd, not you!"

Pursing her lips, Mary found herself more than a little taken aback by the crudeness of her sister's outburst and the passion behind her words.

While she had always known Sybil entertained some rather modern hopes for a more egalitarian future, Mary had no idea that her feelings ran so deeply...or that she knew anything at all about the carnal desires of men and women.

The two sisters were silent for sometime, staring at one another. Both were more than a little unsettled by having heard and spoken aloud such taboo, and even dangerous, sentiments.

In many respects, it was the first time that Mary began to realise that Sybil may not be so untouched by the world's realities as she had once believed.

Without Mary truly realising it, her younger sister had grown up, developing opinions so different to the ones characteristic of their genteel breeding that even she was a little startled.

"That's quite a dangerous thing to say, Sybil."

"I'm aware of that...but I promise that I mean every word. If becoming ruined and notorious is the price that I must pay for my loyalty to you, than you know I would have no choice in the matter. You're my sister and I love you."

Mary smiled sadly, appreciating the gesture of solidarity despite how she so ardently hoped with ever fibre of her being that her scandal, and her darling sister's part in concealing it, would never come to light.

"Well that's more than can be said for Edith", the eldest Crawley returned offhandedly, her words quite contrary to the silent appreciation and gratitude that shone in her eyes.

Mary knew there was very few people in her life, except for maybe their mother and Anna, who would keep such a huge and detrimental secret for her.

Edith, she knew, would tell the whole world at the first possible opportunity.

Sybil smiled kindly in reply, squeezing her sister's hand one last time. Seemingly, she had resolved not to scold Mary for the snide remark directed at Edith...at least not today.

"What are sisters for if not to help one hide the body?"

For the first time the true absurdity of her previous night's excursions, carrying the body of her lover through the corridors of Grantham House, truly hit Mary. It had almost played out like a scene straight from the pages of some Gothic novel.

Despite herself and the pain that she still felt buried deep in her chest, Mary smiled. "I do appreciate it, darling."

"I know you do."

As one final mutual nod of understanding passed between them, the two sisters began making their way towards the family dining room, this time with a considerably calmer demeanour and a much changed (but no less affectionate) perspective upon one another than they had the day previously.

* * *

...

The Drawing Room

Grantham House

London

Summer of 1886.

...

"Typical foreigner, no Englishman would dream of dying in somebody else's house."

Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, bristled slightly in her armchair—eyeing her daughter in law of almost twenty five years as though the whole unpleasantness had been her fault. She ploughed on quite relentlessly.

"Mary acted most strange when Robert mentioned the death of that Turkish fellow", she commented with a frown. "One can't go to pieces at the death of every foreigner. We'd all be in a constant state of collapse whenever we opened a newspaper."

"Oh don't be so hard on Mary for being upset, she and Mr Pamuk had become rather friendly over the course of his stay with us."

Violet hummed noncommittally, clearly disagreeing with such a surmising of her granddaughter's acquaintance with the handsome young diplomat.

"I think you and Robert should pay better heed to who your daughters become acquainted with. It isn't as uncommon as you would believe that a girl in the prime of her youth should make some rather unfortunate...friendships."

Cora frowned deeply, her dark eyebrows pulling together. Of course she knew that Mary was adapt to being rather tempestuous at times, but her eldest daughter would never purposefully do anything that would damage the Crawley's good name.

Even the thought of such scandal would kill Robert, and that was something Cora knew that Mary understood perfectly.

"I know what you're implying Mama, and I'll have no part in it. Mary understands the consequences of an unfavourable attachment as well as anyone."

Violet huffed. "It's not Mary that I am referring to."

Cora blinked, her mind skipping over Edith (who was never quite the rebellious sort) to turn to her youngest daughter. "Sybil?"

Violet clucked impatiently, willing her daughter in law to keep up. "Of course Sybil, who else would I be talking about? Especially with all of that ghastly American spunk she inherited from that..._woman_."

Completely ignoring the unapologetically blunt jibe at her own mother's expense, Cora fixed Violet with a worried frown as she began to consider the older woman's words.

In all honesty, she couldn't have helped but notice how Sybil had spent a great deal of time exploring London since they first arrived at Grantham House for the summer. While Cora had initally been anxious about the idea of her eighteen year old daughter wandering around London alone, she had chalked the desire for such excursions down to Sybil's independent spirit rather than the possibility of her having a secret beau.

"I can assure you that she has not been introduced to anyone but the most suitable by Robert or myself these past few months."

Violet smirked. Despite her genuine concern over her granddaughter's wellbeing, she did rather enjoy knowing a great deal more about the internal workings of the Crawley family than all others around her.

Having her daughter in law squirm as a result was only an added bonus.

"My dear", she said, a slight twinkle in her eye. "Do you seriously think Sybil wouldn't be capable of introducing herself to someone if she saw fit to do so?"

* * *

**A Little Bit of History...**

For Victorian men, introducing yourself was difficult; for Victorian women, it was nigh on impossible. If you saw someone you liked you had no option of going over and talking to him. You had to wait to be introduced. Lesser-ranking individuals could not approach higher-ranking individuals unless express permission was granted. It was then the higher-ranking person's prerogative to decide whether to continue seeing this person or to cut them from their acquaintances. The courtship was the dating period that occurred before marriage. A number of stringent societal rules dictated the courtship period. For example, a woman could never be alone with a gentleman. A chaperone had to be present at all times, supervising meetings and time spent together.

**Let's just say that Sybil and Tom-being the rebels they are-evaded all of these Victorian rules ;) **

Being engaged threw open the doors to a level of intimacy that had previously been unthinkable. At least by Victorian standards. Engaged couples could go on unchaperoned rides, hold hands during walks, and kiss each other. They could even be left alone behind closed doors, though it was the man's duty to leave his beloved by nightfall. There was actually sound reason for this; if their engagement were to end, rumours that they had spent the night together could be disastrous for her reputation. Sex between engaged couples wasn't completely unheard of in the lower and middle classes, but the upper classes and aristocratic classes typically kept to the 'no sex before marriage rule'.

**As for the Mary and Pamuk situation...**

Sad as it is to say, while the main thing that was required of a suitable Victorian male was that he had the potential to be a good provider, the most prized quality of a potential Victorian wife was that she was still a virgin. Temptation was best avoided, especially considering how ruinous it could be for a woman's reputation. Thankfully, in the West we are now moving away from these historically-entrenched views of measuring a woman's worth in terms of her chastity. The Victorians, however, had undergone no such enlightenment. If it was believed she had been with another man, it could reduce her suitability as a wife in the eyes of some and close many social doors. If she'd had a child with another man, her chances of marrying well within her class were all but ruined.

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful support and encouragement so far. I hope you liked this chapter :) **


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

...

_Grantham House_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

...

The patience of the saints themselves would surely be tested by the passive aggressive bickering of their cousins Susan and Shrimpie MacClare, remedied only slightly by the vivacious (yet rather charming) antics of the couple's eleven year old daughter Rose.

As always a social call to the MacClares, especially one in which Susan was involved, left both Robert and Cora Crawley thoroughly exhausted. Under less worrying circumstances, such a day would generally leave Cora feeling grateful for her loving and harmonious marriage...that evening however, was most certainly not the case.

_Sybil. What on earth was she going to do with Sybil?_

"You seem troubled tonight, my darling. Whatever's the matter? The baby isn't giving you trouble?"

Leaning back against their plush headboard, Cora sighed.

She rested a soothing hand over her growing stomach, silently hoping that their fourth child would prove less troublesome than their now grown daughters.

She glanced up at her husband, smiling slightly at the softness in his eyes as he undid his dressing gown.

Cora's thoughts returned to the events of that day, or more specifically that morning. Her mother in law's words only swirled more furiously around in her mind now that she and Robert were left alone to themselves. Cora didn't want to burden her husband with the hearsay stories of their youngest daughter's misadventures, especially when she struggled to believe those same stories herself.

It couldn't be true, she refused to believe it.

According to her daughters' second cousin Imogen (a girl who even Violet admitted was a dreadful gossip), a rather smitten Sybil had been spotted cavorting about Hyde Park—taking long unchaperoned walks with some young gentleman who did not seem to have any notable connection to the English peerage.

In all honesty, a part of Cora didn't care very much about the prospect of her daughter showing interest in someone without a title, especially considering how she herself had once been an American heiress of 'new money'. No, it was the thought of Sybil's deceit that Cora didn't like, the thought that her baby girl would see fit to hide her feelings from her family.

She knew her youngest daughter, rather well Cora was proud to say. Ever since Sybil had been a little girl, she had always worn her heart upon her sleeve—sporting a fiery and passionate spirit that one would almost expect to contradict her kindness and sweetness but somehow didn't. Cora was sure of that she would have noticed if her baby girl was in love. She would have seen it in her eyes.

"I've been thinking that we should invite The Greys to dinner tomorrow evening", she mused nonchalantly, the sheer unexpectedness of her suggestion instantly taking her husband slightly aback. "What do you think?"

Robert frowned. "Mama has discussed matching Sybil up with Larry then?", he asked rhetorically, raising his eyebrows. "I thought we had decided to leave her be until Mary was married."

Cora bit her lip. Under any other circumstances, she would agree wholeheartedly with Robert—and had done so up until that morning. Sybil was young after all, not yet nineteen. To most, there would seem no need to rush in securing a favourable match for their youngest as of yet.

It was only Cora that knew better. Undesirable stories were circulating about her youngest daughter, stories that would easily be silenced by the presence of respectable suitor, the suitor everyone had been expecting since Sybil's nursery days.

An attachment to Larry Grey would protect Sybil, protect all three of her girls.

"I'm not trying to press her into an engagement, Robert. You know I would never do that. But I do think we should make some effort to bring her and Larry together. Don't you think that they would make a striking pair?", Cora replied, hoping that her words would sound even somewhat convincing.

She thought of Sybil's expression when she first spoke to her on the subject of a possible attachment to Larry Grey—full of shock and distaste—and hoped that the girl's feelings would change.

"You were saying the same about Mary and Matthew only months ago?"

"Oh Robert, don't change the subject!"

He sighed deeply, reluctantly seeming to mull over his thoughts on the subject. Robert still looked a more than a little unconvinced as he began settling down the night.

"Do as you wish, Cora darling. You have my support...but I wouldn't bet upon having Sybil's."

...

_Colindale_

_London_

_Summer of 1886_

...

Tom smiled at Sybil as he opened the door of his flat, instant surprise lacing his voice as their eyes met over the threshold. It was the first time he'd seen her since the night they had gotten engaged, and each day since his grandmother's Claddagh ring was feeling heavier and heavier in his trousers pocket.

"What are you doin' here, Love?", Tom asked. "You said not to expect you."

It had only been four days since he had received a discreet message from Sybil, letting him know that her sister needed her and that they wouldn't be able to meet in person for at least a week or more.

Sybil grinned, removing her hat. She reached up on tiptoes, pecking Tom soundly on the cheek as he ushered her inside, closing the door. "Are you not pleased to see me?"

Chuckling, Tom took both of her hands in his own—kissing her softly on the lips. A proper kiss. He smiled against Sybil's mouth, marvelling at how they could do this now, and how her eyes shined so brightly whenever they did.

In his whole life, Tom had never experienced a feeling quite so wonderful.

"You know I am", he replied as she sunk into his hold.

Sybil laughed, leaning her head against Tom's. Her voice took on a more serious tone as she gently removed herself from his embrace. "I'm glad...because there is something that we really must discuss."

* * *

**Hiya guys, I hope you are all keeping well. So sorry this chapter is so short, I rewrote it half a dozen times with different scenes and different conversations between different characters, but nothing felt quite right...such a struggle. Next up, we will hopefully have some Sybil/Tom, Mary/Matthew...and maybe even an appearance from Larry Grey.**

**I've also updated my Sybil/Tom modern AU 'Standby'. If anyone wants to check it out, I'd love to hear what you think :) **

**Wishing you all the absolute best! **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_..._

_Colindale _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

Together for the first time since their engagement, Sybil and Tom sat by the window. They watched the iridescent summer rain fall against the window panes, fingers wrapped around lukewarm cups of tea and feet brushing innocently beneath the small kitchen table.

The atmosphere surrounding them was understatedly intimate, more so than it had been in days.

Despite the difficult road that lay ahead, Sybil could never regret meeting him. Tom was her first, in every sense of the word, and while she knew that countless others would consider her foolish or naive for feeling the way she did for him, Sybil was determined to make their relationship work.

He was her first love, but against all odds, what she really wished for in life was for him to be her last.

In the months that had passed, Sybil had realised that falling in love with Tom was rather like entering a house and finally realising she home. When he smiled at her, Sybil felt invisible hands wrapping around her, making her feel safe and loved. When his eyes were locked upon hers, it was as though she could suddenly see galaxies instead of just pupils. There was something in Tom that made her look forward to their life together. Sybil found herself anticipating not only the larger milestones of a life well lived but the small, sweet and seemingly insignificant mundanities that made up a happy marriage.

Having Tom in her life made Sybil feel as though anything was possible, like she could conquer anything.

However, like all things...their happiness was by no means complete or perfect. There were still plenty of rather glaring obstacles to worry about, her family's disapproval being a prime example.

Sybil caught Tom's eye across the table, knowing he had already sensed her unease.

Anxiously tapping the side of her cup with her thumb, she was plagued with thoughts of her sister Mary's current predicament and how it all lead back to the deceased Mr Pamuk and the wider scandal that threatened their family as a result of the affair.

Although the prospect of becoming a social pariah still didn't frighten Sybil in the way it did Mary, she did find herself reconsidering how her and Tom's deepening attachment would affect her family.

Having a sister who wholeheartedly chose to run off with a working class man could ruin Mary and Edith's reputations in an instant, something Sybil wanted to avoid at all costs. While a once off affair could, with some effort, be pushed under the rug, a marriage most certainly could not...nor would Sybil want it to be. She was so proud of Tom, for the truly wonderful man he was and all he had already accomplished in twenty four short years.

That being said, Sybil couldn't deny that her parent's already had a great deal to contend with. The birth of the fourth Crawley child was quickly approaching and the last thing that Sybil wished to do was add to her mother and father's worries.

Silently, Tom's hand slipped across the table and covered hers.

"Sybil darlin', is everything alright? Is it your sister?"

She nodded solemnly, allowing her feelings from the last few days to finally surface. "I suppose it's quite a lot of things, her included."

"Anythin' I could help with?", Tom asked, his voice carrying a certain kindness that sent an unexpected surge of warmth rushing through her.

Sybil smiled soberly, thinking of her sister and how Mary had relentlessly evaded all help over the last number of days. She knew that Tom was only asking for her sake, especially since he was still rather sceptical about her family, but Sybil was admittedly rather touched all the same.

"Oh Tom, you're sweet to offer but she hardly lets me help her most of the time. Mary's rather stubborn that way."

He smirked affectionately, his fingers playfully squeezing Sybil's in an attempt to lighten her spirits...something that very nearly worked. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Sybil shook her head, her lips tentatively curling upwards into a genuine smile. "Don't be rude", she bantered softly in return, still mulling over how her argument against their elopement would sound to him.

By all means, Sybil didn't want Tom doubting her determination to marry him...not for a moment.

However, she couldn't deny that her perspective had changed on the subject since she'd seen Tom last. Sybil knew that running off to Gretna Green was a fanciful notion at the best of times and while she was as unwilling as ever to give her fiancé up, she was adamant not to risk losing her family in the process.

"I've been thinking...will you meet my parents?"

Tom frowned in confusion, clearly taken aback by Sybil's request.

"I thought we were going to elope?", he asked carefully, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Both of them were more than aware of how the aristocratic classes viewed people like him...young upstarts out to cause trouble to Queen, country and their precious status quo. "You said so yourself that forgiveness was easier to ask for than permission."

"And a part of me still thinks that."

"Then what's changed?"

Sybil sighed deeply, needing him to understand. "Tom darling, imagine if we had a child in the future. How would you feel about them marrying someone you didn't even know existed! I can't do that to my parents!"

"Then what do you suggest, Sybil?", Tom retorted, his voice carrying a slightly hurt edge. "People like me don't exactly go walzing into places like Downton Abbey or Grantham House to ask the Lord of the Manor for his daughter's hand."

"Don't be silly, Tom", Sybil implored. "We won't be asking for their permission, only their understanding."

"And you really think they'll understand?"

"Perhaps not right away, but given time I think they will."

He sighed distractedly, his gaze purposeful and concerned.

"You know them better than I do, I suppose."

Sybil drew herself closer to Tom, setting a reassuring hand upon his arm. She knew that they wouldn't get anywhere without being completely candid with one another.

"I will marry you, Tom. I will! And if it comes to a choice, I will choose you...but I'm not burning my bridges unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

At this he stared at her for a moment, both enamoured and slightly guilty about being at the receiving end of such a promise.

"I don't mean it like that, darlin'. You shouldn't have to pick between me and your family. I just...", Tom's voice trailed off for a moment. He looked at her earnestly, searching her eyes for answers that she hoped he would find in them "...I really don't want to lose you. "

Sybil bit her lip, unsure whether his words made her want to smile or cry. Either way, she remained determined. Despite the difficulties they would face, he was hers and she was his.

"You won't lose me, Tom. No matter what you think, I will stay true to you."

Seeming at though he was digesting her words, Tom began to look somewhat more open minded. He covered her hand with his own once more, interlacing their fingers. "And the rest is detail..."

Sybil smiled, hoping that she would do right by both Tom and her family. She needed to. "Exactly."

"So do you have somethin' in mind, Love?"

Looking at Tom's tentatively more sanguine expression, Sybil thought of the conversation she'd had with Matthew the night before on the subject.

Her cousin had promised to help her and Tom in whatever manner he could...but she and Tom would have to wait several more weeks until the season was over before they faced her family at Downton Abbey.

"I do actually."

_..._

_Grantham House _

_St James's Square _

_London _

_..._

Although they hadn't properly spoken or even looked at one another all evening, Matthew found himself very cognisant of Mary's presence at his right hand side.

She was quieter, more serious than usual and she hadn't insulted him once.

While none of those things should have surprised him in light of recent events, Matthew found himself a little taken aback...and quite a bit worried about her too. Rather tirelessly, he'd tried to reach out to her over the past week but nothing had worked. Mary seemed very adamant to keep her distance from him.

He glanced along the table, noting the presence of their fellow diners. With The Greys joining them for dinner, their party had reached fourteen.

"Sybil doesn't look very happy about being lumped with Larry Grey", Matthew observed, trying to make lighthearted conversation with Mary on any subject that was relatively inoffensive.

He wondered vaguely what Mary would think upon discovering that her younger sister had agreed to marry Tom Branson, but kept that to himself for Sybil's sake. He'd given her his word after all.

Mary eyed Matthew cooly in return, not looking particularly sympathetic or amused. She glanced across the table at her sister. "The poor darling will know all about it in a year or two. Having every eligible bachelor from here to Timbuktu flung at you can be rather exhausting."

Her tone clearly stated a desire for their conversation to come to a swift ending.

Matthew nodded curtly in return, feeling slightly put out by Mary's dismissal even if he understood it's origins. While, as a solicitor, he'd learned to be tactful, Matthew had never quite mastered the art of holding his tongue.

"You seem to enjoy the attention", he returned offhandedly, immediately regretting the words as they left his mouth.

"Do I?", Mary challenged, hurt and fire mingling in her eyes. As they looked at one another, memories of dragging a corpse through darkened hallways seemed to pass between their eyes.

Matthew ducked his head sheepishly. His thoughts returned to Mr Kemal Pamuk, and how the Turk's lifeless face had been the subject of his own nightmares for days. With that in mind, he could not even begin to imagine how it had been for Mary.

"That was insensitive. I apologise."

Mary's voice was cold when she spoke up once more, taking a long and languid sip from her wine glass. "What is it to you anyway, Angel Clare? I don't expect you to understand."

Digesting her biting words and literary reference, Matthew knew that he should feel in some way reassured that Mary sounded more like herself. However, her words cut deep as he began to understand her meaning.

He didn't want to hurt Mary, that had never been his intention. Matthew could never thinking poorly of her despite the impossible standards women were held to by society.

"My careless comments aside, I do care about you a great deal, Mary", he tried gently, voice low enough to avoid the possibility of anyone overhearing them. "Despite everything that has happened both recently and before your mother announced her pregnancy, I still see you as an important member of my family. Could we ever be friends?"

Mary eyed him suspiciously. "Friends?", she asked, laughing humourlessly as though she had never truly considered the possibility of such a thing.

Matthew nodded seriously, confirming her words."Yes, real and honest friends. Without the pretences of before. Perhaps we would even try to tread on one another's toes a little less?"

"I'm not sure I would know how to do such a thing."

"We'd do it together, step by step...as friends should."

Mary observed him silently for a moment, her lips pursed. It was only when Carson arrived at the dining room door with their next meal in hand that she turned to Matthew with a slight smile, the most genuine one he'd seen on her for days.

"Very well", she replied, as firm and regal as ever. "If you think you can manage it."

* * *

Following an afternoon spent with Tom, Sybil hadn't expected to find herself seated beside Larry Grey. Masking her irritation, she endeavoured to make polite conversation and ignore his greviously ill-informed and entitled viewpoints as her mother beamed in anticipation at her from further down the table.

Sybil internally cursed herself for having defended William Gladestone's efforts to aid some of London's most notorious courtesans. While she initally intended for her words to be just scandalous enough to deflect Larry's unwanted advances, the man had gone off on a tangent against humanitarianism, feminism, socialism and a number of other things he knew that Sybil had very passionate opinions in favour of.

She eyed Larry sceptically, having heard enough of his bizarre argument to call his bluff. Swallowing a harsher retort, she tried to remain as civil and tolerant as possible.

"Surely you aren't trying to suggest that when a child is taught in the nursery to share their toys, it encourages socialism in later life?"

Larry looked rather please with himself as he supped on his third glass of red wine. "Obviously", he replied, as though speaking to a small child. "These problems start very early on, earlier than any of us would ever care to believe."

Sybil sighed deeply, reigning in her frustration as she caught Matthew's eye across the table.

While she could have gone off on a rant of her own, quoting the works of Anna Doyle Wheeler and others of a similar repertoire, Sybil knew that Larry Grey would only scoff at such an outburst.

So instead her rebuttal was shorter and spoken as a whisper, purely for her own appeasement.

"I'm sure a child could grow to become worse things than a socialist!"

Despite Sybil's efforts, Larry seemed to have heard her. He smiled condescendingly in return, the edges of his lips twitching upwards into a cruel smirk.

"Oh come now, Sybil. What would your Papa say if he heard such a thing? Class isn't transitory and egalitarianism is just an illusion. Any fool on the street will tell you that."

Sybil frowned, her annoyance only growing further at his words as she thought of Tom, of Gwen and of every other working class person up and down the country who had aspired for more and made efforts to achieve it. "There's no reason why a man or woman shouldn't elevate their station when they are blessed with talent and prepared to work hard."

"This is why women should be kept out of politics. You are all far too sentimental creatures."

Larry tutted gently, his tone just patronising enough to have her wishing that she was somewhere-anywhere-else. Silence fell between the two of them and Sybil began to turn away from her dinner companion, to forgo etiquette and speak to Edith instead.

Suddenly, she felt something rather cold and unexpected ghost against her leg. Freezing for a split second in alarm, Sybil watched as Larry's grin turned positively wolfish. Through the fabric of her gown, she felt his hand grasp around her knee..possessive, uncomfortable.

Sybil's blood ran cold and she glanced up at him in shock. Her stomach turned quesily, suddenly feeling rather ill. While she had been touched by a man before (specifically just Tom), he'd never done anything either without her expressed consent or before she'd reached out to him in a similar way herself.

The fact that Larry believed that he was entitled to do so to her, or to any woman, was enough to make Sybil absolutely furious.

"Larry I-"

Going by his rather smug expression, Larry clearly expected her to be shocked and perhaps a little flattered by such a blatant and public advance. Sybil's cheeks flushed, but not with the girlish embarrassment that he anticipated.

She glared at him angrily, a death stare that would have made even The Dowager Countess grudgingly proud.

Evidently amused by her outrage, Larry's eyes seemed to challenge Sybil. He was challenging her to call him out, to cry wolf, to protest aloud...truly believing that she wouldn't say a word. It was one of the many cruelties of their world, in such matters the lady involved would always be blamed for encouraging a man's untoward advances.

However, everyone at the table knew that Sybil wouldn't do that and deep down they also knew that Larry Grey was a complete and utter prat...

So with one more defiant glance in his direction, Sybil held up the offending hand for the whole table to see. She glared at Larry over her shoulder, her tone sickly sweet as she smiled at the look of horror that came over his face.

"Goodness, would you just look at what I found in my lap!"

* * *

_**A Little History:**_

_**On Countess Markievicz: "Lady Gregory and Countess Markievicz, why are the Irish rebels so well born"~The Dowager.**_

_**The final section in this chapter, the scene between Larry and Sybil, is based off of real life events from Countess Markievicz's coming out season in London in 1897. **_

_**Markievicz went on to be involved in the 1913 Strike and Lockout, The Easter Rising, The War of Independence and became the first female cabinet member in Europe when she was elected to parliament in 1919. Her sister, Eva Gore Booth left their family estate in Sligo to live in a working class suburb in Manchester where she was involved in the growing trade unionist, suffragists and pacifist movements. Eva supported contentious objectors during WWI and lobbied against the execution of Rodger Casement in the weeks following The Easter Rising. Lady Gregory was more of a cultural nationalist. She was an Irish dramatist, folklorist and theatre manager who supported the ideas of republicanism through retellings of old Irish mythology and folklore.**_

**_On William Gladestone: In public the epitome of respectability, Gladestone'she relations with women of "easy virtue" nevertheless raised eyebrows. His Foreign Secretary, Granville, once spoke of having known nine prime ministers, five of whom had committed adultery. Informed Victorians speculated privately whether Gladstone was one of the five. Speculation centred on two aspects of Gladstone's social life. He was the only prime minister to stalk the streets of London seeking to reclaim street prostitutes from a life of vice. Equally controversially, his friendships with notorious courtesans such as Skittles – Catherine Walters – and Lillie Langtry invited charges of hypocrisy. _**

**_On Anna Wheeler: Anna Wheeler (1780 – 1848), also known by her maiden name of Anna Doyle, was an Irish born British writer, socialist and advocate of political rights for women and the possible benefits of contraception. P_****_hilosopher William Thompson described his book Appeal of One Half of the Human Race, Women, Against the Pretensions of the Other Half, Men, to Retain them in Political, and Hence in Civil and Domestic, Slavery as the "joint property" of himself and her. A staunch advocate of political rights for women and equal opportunities in education, she was friendly with French feminists and socialists. _**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19. **

_..._

_Colindale _

_London _

_Summer of 1886_

_..._

As the daylight started to dwindle the tension in Tom's shoulders only grew. He sighed distractedly, running a hand through his hair.

His head was swimming unhelpfully and his mouth was uncharacteristically dry.

In the last four years, Tom Branson had made speeches at parliament, campaigned door to door for votes in Dublin and helped arrange monster meetings from Bantry to Kylemore...but still his current situation made him feel nervous, out of place even.

_This_...this had him out of his depth and there was no point in denying it. He peered through the large front window of the public house, just about making out the light blonde hair of the man whom he was supposed to met.

Sybil seemed adamant that they would find an ally in her cousin, but Tom (although he remembered Matthew Crawley to be the friendly sort from their brief encounter) was yet to be convinced.

Still lost in thought, Tom felt a smaller hand engulf his and urgently tug him straight off the main street and down an alley. Initally alarmed, he whirled around and found a familiar pair of blue eyes glint in scarcely concealed laughter. She gripped his elbows in the semi-darkness. He rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Jaysus Sybil, are you trying to put me in an early grave?"

Sybil smirked, "I had to return your nasty surprise at some point, didn't I?"

Tom shook his head, remembering vividly the day he'd given her a similarly playful scare, back before he had even suspected anything about the class divides that separated them.

Even then, he should have known that there was no going back on what he and Sybil had.

Leaning into her until their foreheads touched, Tom smiled despite himself. Sybil's nose was just inches from his, the kisses they'd both been longing for all day just a hair's breadth away.

"I wouldn't say there's anything too nasty about this if I'm being honest...a fairly nice surprise actually."

Sybil grinned, sight that made his heart swell and his shoulders loosen. Whatever it took to make their relationship work, Tom promised himself he would try because..._Christ, he loved her! _

"Oh, do you think so?", she challenged.

Tom chuckled, adopting a jokingly formal tone that undoubtedly would have befit just about anyone who'd have worked in her father's house.

It was strange, he'd been quite on edge all day at the prospect of meeting a member of his fiancé's family, but being here with Sybil now...well, things seemed to feel more natural than he ever thought they could.

"I do indeed, Milady", he replied, wrapping his arms around her.

He leaned in and she stood on her tiptoes, their lips connecting and their bodies melting together. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and he could feel the beating of her heart against his chest.

Their kiss was soft and chaste. Tom would swear that he could feel the hope radiating from Sybil.

"Matthew's next door", she offered with a quirk of her eyebrows as they pulled apart, flushing and panting quietly.

Tom nodded, his smile faltering somewhat as reality once again struck. "I know, I spotted him up at the bar."

"He's excited to speak to you again."

"...even though I've proposed to his cousin without consulting her father."

Sybil rolled her eyes, straightening the lapels on her fiancé's jacket. "Matthew knows the whole story already. I think he's already quite looking forward to having you as a relation."

Tom nodded solemnly, not wanting to let Sybil down but also finding himself unable to completely hide his admittedly complicated feelings on the matter. Here he was, about to extend the hand of friendship to a man who was the possible heir to a way of life that Tom had been brought up to detest. It was enough to make his head spin.

"I'll believe that when I see it, Love."

"Well, why shouldn't he?", Sybil challenged, her tone going from determined to teasing to downright earnest. "You're clever, perfectly respectable...if not a little pig headed, but you make me so much happier than anyone else ever could."

Despite the concerns that had plagued him for most of the day and ignoring the starkly republican voice at the back of his head that labelled his hope to befriend Sybil's family as hopeless (or even traitorous!) , Tom found himself smiling.

He knew how important her family was to Sybil, and he damn well wasn't going to mess that up for her.

"Have I told you lately that I love you to pieces, Sybil Crawley."

"You might have mentioned it at some point, darling."

* * *

...

_Grantham House _

_St James's Square _

_London_

_..._

The Dowager Countess of Grantham eyed her family members carefully, as though she were the only one present still in procession of their full mental faculties.

"Commoners", she deadpanned, positively bristling at the mere idea. "Coming to Downton?"

To be fair, Violet Crawley was a strong believer in continuing the tradition of hosting Downton's tenant farming population in the Great Hall on Christmas Eve and there hadn't been an occasion in over twenty years where she hadn't opened the servant's ball on Carson's arm.

That being said, brushing shoulders with the sorts of _modern victorians_ who believed in weekends, salaries and, God forbid, day jobs was a little too much for her.

Cora frowned across the table at her mother in law. "Oh come now, Mama. Any friend of Matthew's is a friend of ours."

Undeterred, Violet turned to her son and her granddaughters for even the slightest measure of their support. Upon finding them indifferent to her distaste, she scowled.

"Solicitors, bankers and politicians all running rampant inside our home?", she asked, horrified. "Are we to become a public house? Offering meals and shelter to every passing traveller."

Mary smiled breezily, possibly the only one at the table to truly empathise with the Crawley matriarch's difficult nature. She glanced between her grandmother and Matthew, her lips pursed in faint amusement.

"Oh Granny, you forget that Matthew was brought up middle class and he's perfectly respectable."

Matthew smirked at Mary's back handed compliment and their eyes met across the table. He smiled. She seemed to scarcely suppress an eye roll.

Violet huffed. "Yes well, he's one of us now. There's quite a difference."

Robert shuffled his shoulders uneasily, taking a long sip from his wine glass.

He never particularly cared for conflict, something that, as a member of the Crawley family, he unfortunately saw quite a lot of.

"Either way, Mama", Cora reasoned softly. "It will increase numbers for Robert's hunting party and ensure an even number of men and women in the ballroom come evening time."

Watching as his wife rather cooly interceeded before opinions got too heated, Robert couldn't help but smile. He had always appreciated Cora's ability to ease the tension in any room...even one where his mother was present.

"And this is the kind of _society_ you will expose your three unmarried daughters to?"

Feeling as though she should say something, Sybil came to the defence of '_Matthew's_' plans.

While she wasn't familiar with her cousin's entire party, it being made up of a number of Matthew's old university friends as well as Tom, Sybil was admittedly every bit as responsible for the whole scheme as her cousin.

"Oh Granny, I think that Papa and Matthew's plans are perfectly reasonable", Sybil implored, ignoring Matthew's knowing smile that was directed at her. "It has been known for people of different classes to mix and frankly, I'm looking forward to it."

Matthew chuckled discreetly into his wine glass, earning him an subtle scowl from Sybil. Neither noticed, Violet glance between them suspiciously.

Isobel Crawley nodded approvingly, delighted either by the forward thinking nature of her young cousin's statement or by the possibility of taking a jab at Violet's conservatism.

Either way, she was the picture of unwavering support.

"Bravo, Sybil. I couldn't have said it better myself. Too many people forget that we can learn so much from one another on both sides of the class divide."

Violet turned away from Matthew and Sybil and glared pointedly at Isobel, quite accustomed to her eternally diametrically opposed friend's _ways. _

"You would say that, wouldn't you?", she rebutted drily.

* * *

...

_Hyde Park _

_London _

_..._

Easily falling into step with one another, Mary and Matthew took a turn about Hyde Park.

In the hours before luncheon, the park was quietly bustling with afternoon walkers and Hackney carriages. The sky was blue, bluer than blue, and the sounds of squaking pigeons about to take flight was never too far away.

Matthew smiled at Mary over his shoulder, their companionship feeling more effortless than he could ever recall it being in the months since their engagement ended.

"I was surprised you came to my defence last night, Mary."

"We are supposed to be friends now, are we not?", Mary replied, eyeing him teasingly. "Is that not what friends do? Take up arms for one another."

Chuckling quietly, Matthew nodded. "Indeed, but I do believe that taking up arms against your grandmother is quite a different story."

Looking pleased, Mary laughed aloud and ploughed on.

"I'm actually rather looking forward to it. I think I'd like to be acquainted with some of your old school friends. The people who made up your life before all of-", she trailed off, gesturing around vaguely to their surroundings. "-all of this, I suppose."

"Should the scores of England's eligible bachelors feel threatened?", he returned jokingly.

Mary laughed aloud, a sound that still made Matthew's heart pick up its pace.

"Not on my account", she admitted before smirking."...Sybil and Edith may be a different story."

"How so?", Matthew challenged, playing along. Vaguely, he wondered what Mary would think if she knew just how interested her younger sister was in one of '_his' _friends. Decidedly, he put those concerns aside. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it...or rather, Sybil and Tom would. "Are you above middle class men, Lady Mary."

Matthew tried to keep the faint twinge of hurt out of his voice, breathing a sigh of relief when he realised that Mary hadn't seemed to notice,

"Oh Matthew, you seem to forget that Edith is rather desperate for almost anyone's attention and Sybil finds the working classes..._bizarrely_ fascinating."

"She cares about the good of the common people, that's hardly a fault."

Mary nodded, seeming to accept his explanation. "I suppose Aunt Rosamund did always say that Sybil would be happy in a cottage."

Matthew chuckled at the statement, knowing the accuracy of it. "And what about you?", he asked, almost sounding casual. "Would happiness be completely out of the question, living such a life."

"Me?", Mary gasped, feigning amazement as though she truly believed the question was asked entirely in jest. "In a cottage."

They were both far too clever not to recognise the weight of the question.

Matthew shrugged, trying to keep the vulnerability from his voice. This uncertainty between them, he knew it would always be there for however long his fate as heir to Downton was in hang. "Well, maybe not a cottage."

Mary grasped lightly at his elbow, turning him to face her. "Would you think badly of me if I told you I wasn't sure", she asked, biting her lip.

It was the most honest answer she could offer him, they both knew it.

Smiling, Matthew shook his head. "I'm quite sure that I could never think badly of you, Mary."

* * *

**A Little History...**

_** Home Rule was greatly facilitated by the 1884 Franchise Act which increased the Irish electorate nearly six-fold, and the 1885 Electoral Act which created single seat constituencies. Most of the new voters were Catholics and nationalists, steadfast in their support of Home Rule, which became the dominant political issue in British and Irish affairs after 1885.** **To grow the grass roots support for the party, ****Parnell resorted to organizing "monster meetings," huge open-air demonstrations at sites of historical significance throughout Ireland, these were attended by hundreds (if not thousands) of people.**_

* * *

**A/N: Hope you all are doing well these days. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter? Are you enjoying the story so far? What would you like to see in later chapter? Let me know! **

**Pearlydewdrop xx **


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